


Build Up A New Us

by Harp_of_Gold



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BDSM, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of violence to children, Mildly Dubious Consent, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Self-Harm, Torture, angbang, fourth age valinor, mycology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 105,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harp_of_Gold/pseuds/Harp_of_Gold
Summary: After Mairon's defeat in the War of the Ring, he must face his past and decide what kind of future he will build.Life in Valinor isn't easy when everyone seems to hate him. Melkor and the sons of Fëanor keep making it harder.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [Flowers and Blood](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ezE8UsTFSq8/) by Mariee Sioux.

Heat has never caused him pain before. It engulfs his very being; everything that is left of him burns. Below the foundations crack and crumble; walls tumble in pieces to the jagged plains of Mordor. His last home. He hears the cries of Manwë’s eagles and knows he should hate them. He simply can’t find it in him. Sauron is dead. He drifts.

The wind blows the bitter spirit where it will. He doesn’t care anymore; he barely feels at all. Only a nagging, familiar ache remains to him. If not for that, he thinks, he could let the shrieking gales scatter him, and he might at last find peace. But it will not let him be. What is it he wanted? A glimpse of gold teases his tortuous memory. There was…a ring? No, what use were jewels without the one he’d made them for, the one he’d worn them for…the one he loved?

“Melkor,” he breathes at last. And then he does feel; great waves of pain drowning him like the Numénorean seas; loss so overwhelming he can only scream into the stormwind, and when he has no more voice, he sobs, shaking, and where his spirit is blown, those huddled below, sheltering from the torrent, remember the dead and mourn. 

When all his tears are fallen, floating on the wind, hiding in shadows, his mind seems clearer. He ponders his memories then, for he is formless and powerless in his defeat, and he has no companion but grief. He has struggled so long, thrown away so many lives, sacrificed pieces of himself in so many ways, and what has it achieved? He has rent the fabric of the world and bathed it in blood, and still he is forever parted from his Master. Indeed, he thinks, the best days were the earliest, when the world was still new and they reveled in their creations, before the Silmarils, before the incessant wars, before he knew the path of every nerve that ran through an elf’s body. Before his lord was wounded and chained and stolen away. He had never wanted to end like that, standing alone and broken, a mere shade of what he had been, atop his tower in Mordor. He has never wanted to be alone at all. 

Thought is too painful, so he tries to stop. The stars are shrouded, and he is grateful. He could not bear Varda’s lights upon him. Gazing into the inky blackness so like the Void he longs for, he wonders if somewhere, Melkor still thinks of him.

“Please,” he whispers, weeping. “Please, if anyone can hear me, anyone at all…please let me be with him.” He knows there is none to hear. Melkor would have answered his prayers long ago if he could, and the Valar are pitiless monsters. As if in mockery, the rain begins to fall again, each drop cold and piercing. Borne on the wind, other cries find their way to his ears. Others mourn their own lost love. He is not alone after all; he is one voice in a great chorus of tears. At first this is like comfort, if comfort could exist. Then he listens closer. These voices lament lives he ended. Children weep for fathers and mothers who lie rotting before the Black Gate. Sisters cry for brothers who fell at Helm’s Deep. Parents grieve for daughters and sons who went north from the deserts to fight for him and never came home. Their cries mingle with those from long ago and screams that live only in his heart now. The jewel-smiths of Eregion. The dwarves of Khazad-dum. Vast armies of elves in Beleriand. Maedhros’s wails when he found Fingon’s crushed remains, more haunting than any sound that parted from his lips in Angband. All these voices, all this pain reverberates within him, kindling a chord of a strange emotion he does not recall. He knows only that in the immensity of grief he hurts, and they hurt. In this they are alike, and of their pain he is the cause. 

He staggers and sinks beneath the weight of this knowledge, and he wonders where his glee in cruelty is gone. He cannot summon it now. Long ages he sits with this pain. What else can he do? He has nowhere to flee. Words form; they are forged in tears, and when he silently mouths them, some part of him recognizes them for the reversal they are and laughs bitterly: “If none of these can have the ones they love, why should I have my lord?” 

Crying seems then a mercy reserved for others; he sighs and withers, and the last breath he clings to is regret.

Unmoored from physical being, time moves unmarked. He knows not how long he has perched, trembling, in the branches of a struggling pine when his solitude is broken. A hearty warmth suffuses his senses with the scent of sun-kissed leather and summer bonfires, and a pair of burly arms fold him in a familiar embrace. They are not his Master’s arms; he has to cast his mind back further, to a different home and a different forge.

“Aulë.” His lips shape the name, but no sound comes out.

“Little one. My Mairon.” That name is sweet to him, and the smith’s voice, rich with the clanging of hammers-or is it bells?-is soothing. It had been dear to him once. Before he found it was not enough. Before… The grief hits him again; he is crushed by its burden. 

“Aulë. I’m sorry.”

Aulë holds him close like a lost child, and he feels his spirit begin to coalesce and form a body, drawing on the Vala’s strength. This isn’t what he wants. “Please,” he sobs, “finish me and let me die. I don’t want to hurt anymore.” He feels the smith’s touch on his mind, probing gently, testing what is there, and he pushes all that he’s seen to the forefront, all the suffering, the vicious tortures and merciless battlefields, willing Aulë to see what he has done, to feel the pitiless knowledge that it is all his fault, with a violence he has thought beyond him.

“Yes, little one.” His voice is kind. “I know.”

He quakes then. What other fate can remain?

“Are you ready to come home?”

Tears fall. Home is the fastness of Angband. Home is at his Master’s feet. “I just want to be with Melkor.”

“You still love him after everything?” Aulë’s searching eyes cut deep. “Ai. I see it in you. Do you think death is what he would want for you?”

Mutely Mairon shakes his head. “He told me to flee and to live,” he whispers. The lamentation of the world is a dull roar at the back of his head. Aulë is solid and massive and strong. Mairon puts his new arms around the smith’s expansive shoulders and allows himself to be carried away to the Blessed Lands.


	2. Judgment

Nestled in Aulë’s arms, Mairon felt safer than he had since he lost his ring. He gave in to his bone-deep weariness and slept. If he dreamt at all, it was of a rich darkness that murmured soft endearments and hid him from the world. A wash of mingled Song and power hit him like a stone wall, and he jolted back to awareness. He immediately wished he hadn’t. For one sickening instant, he thought himself back at Barad-dûr, trapped by some gigantic block of fallen masonry, unable to breathe or move under the immeasurable weight. Then he remembered all that had befallen him since. Glancing around warily, he saw a ring of tall standing stones beneath the stars and within them, a second ring of thrones. The Máhanaxar. It must be. And the suffocating pressure on his chest, on his whole drowning body? That would be the combined presence of the Valar. 

Mairon choked back a bitter laugh. What would Eönwë think of him now? Turning down his offer only to show up thousands of years late with even worse crimes to his name? He forced himself to breathe despite his resisting lungs and tried to focus on Aulë. His power tasted of hammers and metal and order created in matter, and Mairon’s heart could beat to that tune. It took the edge off the vertigo from the pounding mass of the others. Just when their Song became almost bearable, Aulë set him down and stepped away.

“No! Please…” Mairon’s whimpers devolved into quiet wordless sobs. He curled into a tight ball, trying to shield himself from their eyes, not caring that they saw his weakness. Vaguely he was aware of talk going on over his head, but he could decipher none of it through the blinding pain that throbbed in his temples and the ache spreading throughout his limbs.

The rumble of Aulë’s deep voice seemed to answer the others in turn, and it gave him enough respite to gasp for air. Another voice joined Aulë’s—were they pleading on his behalf? It couldn’t be—but Aulë had been kind. The new voice was soft, but when it sounded, the world stilled itself to listen. It was worn but clear, gentle but insistent, like the slow whisper of autumn rains or the hush of fading stars before dawn. He took comfort in that voice, too, a different sort than he found in Aulë’s—not the safety of pleasant memory, but a promise of something that danced on the tip of his tongue and refused to be named. 

Mairon braved a glance out from the sheltering fortress of his arms. The second speaker was a Valië, robed in grey, long dark hair falling down her back like a mourner’s veil. She stood nearby as if to protect him. Reaching out, he brushed his fingertips against the hem of her robe and recoiled in shock. The brief touch opened a floodgate within him and brought the full force of the grief he had known in the wilds roaring back. And yet…it was not altogether unpleasant. He paused and repeated the contact, letting his fingers stray a fraction of a moment longer. The rush of sorrow cleared the nauseating presence of the Valar from his head. Pain was a part of it, but it was a heartache born of loving, and it fed something that he had sought too long to numb. He thought he might be ready to feel it now. Carefully he crawled forward just enough to close the gap and buried his face in Nienna’s robes. 

A chorus woke to tremendous life, rising and cresting in mournful harmonies. Mairon recognized it instantly—he had carried echoes within him ever since that first encounter. He softly added his own shame and grief to the all-enfolding lament and let himself cry. The music filled him like cleansing fire and left a fragmented peace wherever it touched. All other sound seemed to cease, until Mairon realized this was not illusion. The Valar had halted their discussion, and—they were watching him. _No. Oh no._ He waited in dread for Nienna’s rebuke—what was he thinking, clinging to her like a supplicant? Where was his pride?

But instead she knelt beside him and laid her cool hand on his head. That was almost worse.

“Mairon. Don’t fear; I won’t turn you away. I’ve stayed with you since you called to me.”

He looked up, and the sadness and kindness in her eyes made him sob anew. She took a wrap from her shoulders and folded it around him. He floated in the loss of all that had been and was no more, and for that moment, only he and Nienna existed.

“Is that better? I know it hurts.”

Mairon nodded. It did hurt, but at the same time he felt stronger. He slowly sat up, tightening his fingers in the soft fabric. “My lady?” His voice was hoarse. He coughed and tried again. “I don’t understand. Why are you—what do you mean? I never called for you.”

She smiled gently. “I hear all prayers that are spoken in tears.”

His eyes widened. “That night—in the rain…”

“I was with you.”

“But…I was praying for Lord Melkor.”

“And he has been praying for you.”

Stunned to the sheer depths of his being, Mairon let her pull him into her arms. “They wish me to ask you something.”

“What?” He was shaking.

“They need to know if you have any regrets.”

He cast down his eyes. “Can you not hear them in me?”

“Ai, in part, but you must put them to words. Such is the price of judgment.”

Looking into Nienna’s sad gaze, he knew he could not lie to her. But further—nothing he said could shock her or make her abandon him. She would understand. It would be all right. 

“I regret every day that I let pass without telling Melkor how much I loved him.” Gasps and murmurs passed around the ring. Mairon smirked a little, but his amusement quickly faded. He considered the unfolding of grief he’d experienced, the kaleidoscope of others’ pain he had both witnessed and caused. The kinship he’d felt and the sickening knowledge of his own betrayal of some wordless pact shared with all living things. “I regret hurting people. I regret every death I have caused and every moment of suffering. We didn’t have to do that. We could’ve…we…” He searched for words, hot guilt threatening to overwhelm him. “I will never regret giving myself to Melkor. Never. But I did horrible things, both in his service and after, and I do regret those.”

Nienna squeezed his shoulder and stood, keeping her hand on him as if to lend him comfort.

“I have one more question.” Manwë’s voice grated on Mairon’s ears, all biting winds, sharp talons, cold and lofty mountain airs. Mairon shivered and shrank away.

“Answer me, Mairon. How do you intend to act on these regrets? If, for example, Melkor were restored, would you follow him unreservedly again?”

Mairon gathered his dignity about him, as much as he could when barely holding himself upright. “I want only to be with him and live in peace.”

“And if that isn’t what he wants?”

“He loves me. He would choose my wellbeing if it came to that.” Mairon pushed back the simple robe Aulë had summoned for him to reveal an old, faded scar on his breast. It showed no matter what fana he chose: a mountain and crown, Melkor’s signature from before the elves made letters. “You see his mark on me? He vowed upon it always to heed my words.”

Manwë did not falter. “Suppose the worst, please. Suppose he does not agree with you or honor his vow. Would you torture and kill again if he ordered you?”

 _He accepted the Void to save me. You don’t understand._ But Mairon considered the question. Slowly he shook his head, clutching Nienna’s wrap for strength. “No,” he breathed. “I can’t do that again. I can’t.”

Steepling his fingers, Manwë held a long silence. Nienna stroked Mairon’s hair and let him lean against her side. 

“This is my judgment,” said Manwë at last. “You will be given into the custody of Aulë and Nienna. They have agreed to take responsibility for you. You may live with either of them as you choose, and you will obey them. Or if you prefer, you may give up your fana and return to the existence wherein Aulë found you, nameless and shapeless upon the wind.”

The thought of fleeing held a certain attraction, but he had chosen several times already to trust, and he would not turn back now. “I will obey them.”

“So be it.” Manwë’s stern gaze seemed to soften. “I wish you good luck.”

Outside the circle, accompanied only by Aulë and Nienna, Mairon felt better, enough to stand on his own. Before either Vala could begin the conversations he knew must come, he turned to Nienna. 

“What have you done to me? I’ve been different since you touched me in the wilderness. I feel things I’ve never felt before. What is this?”

Nienna regarded him calmly. “I shared a breath of my power with you. A nudge, a taste, no more. You had the capacity to reject it; you chose to latch on instead.”

Mairon scowled. “I couldn’t know what I was accepting.”

“I can take back the fragment of Song you hear; it is a heavy burden to have the sorrows of the world laid always on your heart. What you feel in response, though, is your own.”

Biting his lip, Mairon contemplated that. Part of him rebelled at this whole endeavor, and especially that he, Mairon, Lieutenant of Angband and Lord of Mordor, should experience, of all things, compassion. Yet that part was far weaker than it might have been. He wondered if Nienna spoke true, if he could believe that she had not fundamentally altered something within him. If it were possible he had been capable of these feelings all along. 

A greater part observed coldly that it hardly mattered. The fact was that he had experimented many times over the ages. Every time he pursued conquest and bloodshed, it had ended in the destruction of the very things he had desired to win. His only stable kingdom had been the one he built the slow and careful way in the desert, allegiance by allegiance, people following him because he gave them better lives. If he wanted to survive now, if he wanted any hope of a tolerable existence, much less happiness, he would have to co-exist with elves and Ainur without taking the easy route of rule by force. He no longer had the power, and he would have to remember it. Perhaps in such circumstances, it would be helpful to care about the pain of others. 

A third part, the part of him that had clung to Nienna’s robes, was the loudest. It screamed in despair at the thought of losing Nienna’s gift and the glimmer of hope that shone from it. 

“I would keep it, if I may.”

Nienna bent down and kissed his forehead. Tears gleamed in the corners of her eyes. “I’m glad.”

Mairon changed tack quickly before she could embarrass him further. “Am I truly to be punished so lightly, then? If there’s something you’re not telling me, I’d rather know the worst.”

“You’ve lost everything,” Aulë said, as if that explained it.

“We do not wish to punish you or to harm you at all,” Nienna added. “Only to keep you from harming others, and Manwë’s judgment is meant to achieve that with, we hope, the least pain to you.”

Mairon couldn’t keep blame and accusation from filling his eyes. He didn’t care. “Would that you had shown such mercy to my lord.”

Aulë opened his mouth to speak, but Nienna shushed him. “We have made many mistakes over the ages,” she said. “All we can do now is seek to right them.” 

“You may choose where you will stay, Mairon,” Aulë rushed to fill the silence. “But I would like it if you came home with me first. There’s someone you should see.”

Had Curumo returned from Middle-earth, then? Mairon had heard no news of what had happened after his fall. He supposed there were worse places to begin his apologies. “My lady, I intend to come and serve you, at least for a time. I will need to think on some things first, though.”

“Of course, dear one. You will be most welcome whenever you are ready.”

He turned to Aulë. “Let’s go.”


	3. Reunion

The house of Aulë hummed with happy activity. A hundred different crafts were being practised and taught in the workrooms and studios they passed as Aulë led Mairon through broad, sunny halls. Mairon caught scraps of conversation: two elves arguing some point of geometry, a spirited but friendly critique of what appeared to be a fountain of gigantic glass flowers. It reminded him of the halls of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, with whose quick-minded scholars and artists he had spent so many pleasant hours. He opened his mouth to tell Aulë of the wonders he’d experienced there, of the noble city built on knowledge, of the heights those masters had achieved, of his genius lover who was their lord. The memory of Celebrimbor brought him up short before the first word left him. _Never mind. _Aulë didn’t need to hear that tale, not from him. Not after how it ended. A vision of Celebrimbor’s hands flayed open rose in his mind. He gagged. He had hated that even at the time, the slow destruction of the elf he admired and loved. It had seemed so necessary, and now he couldn’t for the life of him say why. He hadn’t really needed the three rings. Not at that cost.__

__Aulë stopped and was looking at him with concern. “Are you all right? I know it’s been a long and difficult day.”_ _

__“I--I’m fine.”_ _

__“Perhaps you should rest. We can do this in the morning.”_ _

__“Whoever it is you want me to see, I’d rather get it over with.”_ _

__Aulë seemed uncertain, but he nodded and led him to a door down a less-traveled side corridor. “If you need me, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll be listening out for you. I—" He faltered. “I don’t understand why you felt you had to leave so long ago, but I always hoped you’d come home.”_ _

__Mairon gave him a sad smile. “It wasn’t anything you did. I fell in love.”_ _

__Aulë clapped his shoulder and pushed him toward the door. “Come find me when you’re ready.” He walked away as Mairon reached for the door latch._ _

__Sitting within by a window, bent over spread scrolls of parchment, Melkor laid aside a quill and glanced up._ _

__“Master!” Mairon flew across the room and threw himself at Melkor’s feet. Trembling, he breathed in the sweet fragrance of ozone and grave dirt, ashes and mycelium. “I thought I’d never see you again.”_ _

__Melkor did not speak, just tugged Mairon into a crushing embrace. He pulled back enough to look into Mairon’s eyes, his hands cradling his face, caressing his cheeks, soothing away the chill of the lonely ages he had hungered for that touch._ _

__“How is this happening? How are you here?”_ _

__Pushing Mairon’s red locks behind his ear, Melkor kissed him softly, like he could hardly believe he was real. “I wept for you in the Void, and Nienna came to me. She asked if I would be content if she could bring us together again, and I told her there was no oath or sacrifice I would not give in exchange. So here we are.”_ _

__Mairon took Melkor’s hands in his own, careful of the ancient burns that had never fully healed. “Nienna I understand, but how did she convince the others? After how that went for them before?”_ _

__“Oh, there was a lot of blah, blah, restorative justice this, blah, truth and reconciliation that. She wouldn’t have convinced me, so how could I say? I think ultimately they hope to find a way around fate. It worked for the Fëanorions, evidently, so why not for the rest of us? If I’m not in the Void and no longer an enemy, I can’t return from the Void and destroy all of Arda before being killed myself in some epic final battle. They don’t want the end of the world, and neither do I. Not that anyone would say that out loud. But I suspect that’s what settled it for my brother.” He scowled at the word. “You know, I should take notes from Fëanor and start spitting ‘half-brother’ back at him when he calls me that.”_ _

__Mairon half expected to wake at any moment and find it all a cruel dream. He drank in every detail like a thirsty wanderer in a desert. Melkor appeared as he remembered him before his captivity, his long black hair shining like silk, his eyes deep as a midnight without stars, his battle scars faded and gone. Only the wound the Silmarils left in his hand still marked him. He was dressed in a simple black robe, and a band of iron encircled his neck. Like a slave’s collar. That was new. Mairon reached for it, but jerked away from the angry thrum his fingers met._ _

__“What is this?”_ _

__“One of the conditions I agreed to. It restricts most of my power.”_ _

__“Does it hurt?!”_ _

__“Only a little.” Melkor drew him close, seeing his eyes widen in dismay. “Don’t cry, little flame. I’ve endured far worse to get what I want.”_ _

__“For me?”_ _

__“For you.”_ _

__With his face pressed into Melkor’s chest and Melkor’s fingers stroking his hair, Mairon let himself be comforted. Everything within him cried out to be still and be held and be loved, and for a long moment he accepted it. At last he took a deep breath. “My lord, there’s something you have to know.”_ _

__“Yes, love?”_ _

__He struggled for the right words. “I don’t know what plans you might have from here, but—I…” He shook his head and started over. “You are my love and my lord and my everything, and I want only to be with you forever.” He raised a finger to Melkor’s smiling lips before he could interrupt. “But. I cannot be to you what I was. I won’t be your weapon. I won’t be your tool for destruction. If you start another war, I won’t be at your side.” Melkor had gone very still. Mairon shrank away, unwilling to meet his eyes. “If that means you don’t want me anymore—”_ _

__“Who put you up to this?”_ _

__Mairon jumped at his sharp tone._ _

__“If they think they can use you to manipulate me, they’re wrong. Whatever they’re holding over you, whatever they threatened—”_ _

__“No.” Mairon’s voice was so soft he wasn’t sure Melkor would hear, but the Vala paused. “They didn’t. Since I met Nienna…things are…I'm not the same after what she showed me. But this is my choice; she didn’t force me. I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.”_ _

__“So what you’re telling me is that you refuse to serve me any longer.”_ _

__“No! That’s not what I said.”_ _

__“It’s certainly not what you swore to me once.” He rose, pushing Mairon away, and began to pace the room. Mairon remained on his knees, scrambling for something, anything that could fix this._ _

__“Do you think if you promise to be nice and crawl for them they will love you?”_ _

__“That’s not—”_ _

__“Are you going to grovel and beg forgiveness of every elf you’ve ever slain?”_ _

__Mairon hadn’t thought how many of the elves he’d sent to Mandos might have returned by now. “I might. What of it?”_ _

__Melkor rolled his eyes but barely slowed. “Has it ever occurred to you that none of the Valar hold themselves to the same standard they expect of me? Do you think Ulmo apologizes to every drowned sailor? That Manwë weeps when his gale winds flatten whole towns? Oromë is the force of predation itself; his hands drip as much blood as mine, so why is he held blameless? They decry our orcs as an abomination, yet I did just what Yavanna does every time she shapes a new being from the flesh of its forebears. Tell me, did your first wild wolves not look upon Oromë’s hounds and think them abominations?”_ _

__Though he quailed at Melkor’s rage, Mairon could not suppress a pained laugh at that. They had; oh they had._ _

__“And yet I alone am called evil when I live out my nature just as they do. Do you truly think that right? You take their side against me?”_ _

__He had been Sauron, terror of all Middle-Earth, and still the cold venom in his beloved’s voice sent tremors down his spine. “I cannot answer that, my lord. I know only what I must do for myself.”_ _

__“Useless. You’re pathetic. I have no place for cowering dogs.” He stalked out into an adjoining garden in the fading twilight._ _

__Mairon stood frozen as if he’d been slapped, staring after him, watching his world shatter. A bed stood at one end of the room; he sank upon it, numb. After everything, it could not end like this. But Melkor did not return. Curling up as tight as he could in a corner of the mattress, Mairon reached within for the thread of Nienna’s Song and wrapped himself in sorrows until his own pain faded into a speck in the vast ocean of that symphony._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to do the regular posting thing on Sundays, so look for the next chapter then!


	4. Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is kinky stuff in this chapter. Mairon is a masochist, what can I say?

Late afternoon sun slanting over Mairon’s face finally woke him. Blearily he rubbed the grit of dried tears from his eyes and tried to calculate how long he’d slept. Piece by piece he collected himself. He’d always gotten back up and kept going. _There was always someone to keep going for._ He’d confer with Lord Aulë and decide what to do. _What did it matter now?_ Maybe he’d go straight on to Nienna; maybe he’d fit better in her house.

Weight shifted and grabbed his attention. Melkor sat in shadow at the foot of the bed, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. Dark circles underlined his eyes.

“Please just leave me be.” Mairon pulled his knees to his chest. “I don’t want to fight, and you won’t change my mind.”

Melkor shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I’m sorry.”

Mairon gaped. Melkor had never apologized. Not, at least, with those actual words. But Mairon knew, perhaps better than anyone, how willing Melkor was to say whatever would achieve his ends. Before, he’d been content to be a chess piece in Melkor’s game; now…he’d have to stay wary.

“None of that matters now,” Melkor continued. “I have no power and no kingdom. The chance to see you again is the only reason I left the Void, where I wouldn’t have to look at my brother’s smug face. You are what matters to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy. You deserve that, after you gave me everything for all those years. If that means I have to let go any ambitions and support you in your little penitence project, so be it. It’s yours.”

Mairon ran the tip of his tongue over his too-dry lips. Did he care if it were true when he wanted it so badly? “You really mean that?”

Melkor held out his arms, and Mairon gladly climbed into them. “What good would a kingdom be without you beside me?”

“I missed you so much.”

With one hand cradling the back of his neck, Melkor leaned down and kissed him painfully softly, though Mairon parted his lips and offered himself in full. Mairon straddled Melkor’s lap to meet him better, suddenly frantic to claim as much of his lord as he could, but careful of Melkor’s body all the same. He had learned that care well in the latter days of their rule, when Melkor had borne the constant pain of injuries that refused to close, and the slightest pressure on the wrong place could put a swift end to thoughts of lovemaking. He tugged at Melkor’s clothes, fingers rendered clumsy by haste, until Melkor stilled him and took over, undoing fastenings and pushing the robes from Mairon’s shoulders and then his own.

“Oh,” Mairon breathed. Melkor looked frailer than he had known him, but his chest and thighs were as smooth as his once-scarred face; no sign of his wounds remained. Mairon reached out hesitantly to trace the invisible lines Fingolfin’s blade had carved long ago. “Can I touch?”

“All you want. I had rather a long time to heal.”

Mairon sighed in happiness when he could finally stretch himself against Melkor skin to skin. Melkor’s lips ghosted from his ear down his neck. Throwing back his head, Mairon bared his throat to his lord. Gently, much too gently, Melkor explored the proffered vulnerability with delicate kisses that denied any trace of teeth.

Mairon whimpered, growing desperate. “Please, harder.”

If anything, Melkor’s caresses became more chaste.

“My lord, don’t you want me?”

“Whatever makes you think I don’t?”

“Please be rough. Please take me, hurt me; it’s been so long, I need to feel you, I need to know I’m yours.”

Melkor watched him beg with a spreading smirk. When Mairon realized it, he hid his reddening face in Melkor’s chest. “Little flame, you told me just yesterday you weren’t interested in pain anymore.”

“That's different.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to raise your head and look me in the eyes if you want me to hear you.”

“I know you heard me,” Mairon grumbled, but he obeyed anyway. “I said that’s different. I want you as I always have; please don’t tease me.”

“Tell me what you want, then.”

Placing his hands on the wall on either side of Melkor’s head, Mairon rose up on his knees so that he was the one looking down. “I want you to hurt me.” He kissed Melkor fiercely, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. “I want you to use me.” He reached between them and, finding Melkor’s cock hard, gave it a demanding squeeze. “I want you to take your pleasure and make me forget everything but you for a while.”

Melkor’s smirk grew, if possible, even wider. He raked his nails down Mairon’s back. “Like this, little flame?” 

Mairon moaned. Melkor’s teeth were already sinking into his shoulder. “Yes, oh yes!” 

As he thoroughly marked Mairon’s throat, Melkor stroked his sides, seeking out a certain spot. He held Mairon tight and pushed his fingertips hard into a pressure point on his ribs. The pain forced a shocked cry from Mairon. It wasn’t the sort he liked at all. But Melkor knew that, and was doing it anyway. Mairon didn’t believe for a moment that Melkor had forgotten, not with the calculating curiosity on his face. And that meant Melkor wanted him to suffer. The thought of suffering for Melkor’s pleasure and not his own sent a hot thrill of arousal through him. He melted, whimpering, in his master’s grasp. 

Melkor laughed, his voice rich and low. “Some things haven’t changed, I see.” 

“Some things don’t.” Mairon couldn’t find words for the utter gratitude he felt, so instead he ground his cock against Melkor’s and dipped his head to lap and suck at Melkor’s nipples. For a moment of blissful devotion, Melkor let him. Then Mairon felt a hand in his hair, and he was sharply jerked back. Melkor’s grip was tight, forcing him into an uncomfortable stretch. Thoughtfully Melkor stroked the scar of his name he had incised on Mairon’s chest in the early days of his service. He said nothing, but Mairon knew he must be remembering ancient vows they had made. Mairon to obey, and Melkor to listen. 

Kissing the scar, Melkor sighed. “I won’t press you. Just let me know if you ever do change your mind.”

Mairon had no room to answer, for Melkor looked up with a predatory gleam in his eyes, and soon Mairon writhed beneath his teeth and claws. 

*

When at last they lay spent in each others’ arms, Melkor pulled a blanket over them. Darkness surrounded them in warmth and safety and contentment. “Now, little flame,” Melkor rumbled in Mairon’s ear. “I want to know what happened. All of it—the good times and the bad ones, your victories and your triumphs and your defeats. What you built and who you loved. Tell me everything.”

Mairon spoke long into the night while Melkor held him close.

He didn’t realize they’d drifted off to sleep halfway through his explanation of the irrigation systems he'd invented to water the plains of Mordor until he woke to Melkor screaming. He pulled the Vala into his arms as Melkor’s initial terror dwindled into racking sobs. 

“Please don’t leave me, don’t let them put me back there, please…”

“My lord, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, it’s all right.” Mairon stroked Melkor’s hair. “Everything will be all right.”

Clutching Mairon tight, Melkor shook his head. “I’ve dreamed this before,” he whispered. “Having you in my arms again. I always wake in the Void alone.”

“Not this time, I promise.”

“I’m so cold. It’s always cold.”

Mairon frowned at that; the room didn’t feel cold to him at all. Still he sought within for any remnant of his power. “I’ll keep you warm, just let me hold you.” He suffused Melkor’s body with gentle heat until his lord stopped shaking and slumped against him. What strength he had ran dry quickly, and as he pushed to keep giving, the darkness swallowed him.

He came to nestled against Melkor’s chest. Melkor leaned wearily against the wall, and the faint grey light of dawn lit his face like a halo. 

“You never cease to amaze me,” Melkor murmured, and he gave Mairon a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mairon was really proud of his irrigation system.
> 
> If you'd like to read about how Mairon got his scar, the story is here: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346299>


	5. Protection

Melkor’s pleading words when he'd woken in the night haunted Mairon. As he wandered through empty halls in search of the bright sunshine-and-leather presence that was Aulë, he wished he had someone to talk to. He didn't need explicit threats to anticipate Melkor’s worst fears being carried out if he so much as appeared to stir trouble, and even if Melkor fully meant what he'd said about putting Mairon first, he'd never been good at self-restraint. Nienna and Aulë might be supportive, but that would surely have its limit. Revealing his worries to them would risk getting both him and Melkor kicked right back into the Void. Mairon wasn’t about to let that happen.

Mairon sighed. He’d taken no counsel but his own for long ages, and he’d figure this out as well. He found Aulë sitting in an office with the door open, studying a set of diagrams spread on his desk. Mairon knocked on the doorjamb before entering.

“Ah. Good morning, Mairon. Pull up a chair.”

Mairon bowed politely and did so.

“How are you faring?”

“I’m…so very grateful. I can never thank you enough.”

“The only thanks I want is to see you happy.”

Neither knew what to do with the awkward silence that followed. Mairon pushed on to business. “I’m sure we have much to discuss, but may I ask something first?”

“Go ahead.”

“I saw the collar you’re making my lord wear. Do you intend to put a similar one on me?”

“I was going to leave that up to you. If you—”

“I want one.” He quelled the sense of betrayal he felt; it was far from the first time he’d done something behind his lord's back for his own good. Melkor might not agree, but it still ultimately served him. 

Aulë raised his brow but continued. “If you want to be free to come and go, I’ll have to insist you wear one. If you’re content to remain within my halls or in my company, there’d be no need.” He stretched his huge frame, cracking his knuckles. “Is there some reason you bring it up?”

“I don’t want my lord to feel singled out. And it’s a reasonable precaution. Should keep everyone around me more at ease.” Most of all it would keep him at ease, knowing that in the end, if Melkor decided to make a move and forced Mairon’s obedience, the worst he could do would not include magic rings or armies of undead spirits bound in fell forms. Maybe without that potential, Melkor wouldn't try. At least it would give him more time. 

Remembering last night, he hesitated. “It…it won’t keep me from using any power, right? Just most of it?” 

Aulë nodded. “You’ll still be able to do minor things—light a fire, shape metal. Honestly it won’t have much noticeable effect in the shape you’re in now. Even with three Valar sharing their strength with you, it will be a long time before you’re back to yourself. If that’s possible…I’m sorry, you should talk to Estë about this, but the effects of what you did with that ring…you might not ever be the same.”

“I knew that risk when I made it.” His voice was quiet but did not shake. That was a worry for later. “Could you make the collar for me today?”

“It will slow your recovery. It would be better to wait until you’re stronger.”

“I don't care about that. Please?”

“All right.” Mairon was glad he didn't ask more questions. “Come with me; we can talk while I work.”

They walked through a vast room lined with forges and anvils. Racks of hammers and tongs stood at regular intervals, and the middle was taken up with massive iron workbenches. It was early yet, and though a few sleepy apprentices stumbled past, no one had lit a forge fire. A smaller room on the far side held Aulë’s personal forge. Mairon stifled the urge to rummage through the tools and equipment just to see everything there. His fingers itched with possibility in a way he hadn’t thought about in a long time. He’d missed it. He hopped onto one of the larger anvils and sat while Aulë got a fire going and cut a length of brass. 

“I’ll set aside some forge space for you if you’d like,” Aule said as he annealed the brass in the fire. 

Mairon’s eyes widened in surprise. “I would love that.”

“You’ll only be able to use it at night or early in the morning, I’m afraid. I can’t have you here at the same time as students. Some of them…it isn’t fair to let them run into you by accident.”

“I understand. I’ll stay well away.” He wanted to ask about Celebrimbor, if he lived again, but the words eluded him. “Did I hear you right, that I can go where I please?”

Aulë had set the brass on his anvil and begun hammering, humming as he worked. He held up a finger, and Mairon waited for him to finish. 

“Within reason,” he answered, plunging the work-hardened metal back into the coals. “If you’ll be away for more than a day, I’ll need to know where you are and when you plan to be back. Keep me informed of changes. Don’t go calling on people who don’t want to see you—I feel like that goes without saying, but best to be clear.”

“About that,” said Mairon softly. 

Letting more power swell his voice, Aulë began his next pass of forging, rounding the edges of the band as he hammered his Song into its crystalline structure. “Yes?” He inspected the metal carefully before heating it again. 

“Well…if I did want to see certain people. If I want to…to try and make amends. Where would I even begin?”

Aulë nudged the metal out of the fire and gave Mairon his full attention. “I’m not sure I have much advice. When I think of the moment I regret most…when I raised my hammer to the dwarves, after I had created them, after Ilúvatar had reproved me for attempting what was not mine to give—I raised my hammer, and they flinched away, and I realized that in the moment of my forgiveness, I had committed a far greater fault. The first memory my children would have of me would now be fear, and nothing could undo it. It took a great deal of time and patience to earn their trust.”

“Should that be my goal? Trust?” Mairon kept his eyes on his hands. He couldn’t stop reaching to twist and play with rings that weren’t there anymore, and his fingers’ emptiness was disconcerting. “They’re right not to trust me.”

“Maybe you need to let them decide what the goals are and what they want from you.”

“So…I should wait for them to come to me? I don’t see that happening.”

“You took their choices away before. I think you have to give them that choice now, whether or not they wish to see you or hear you out.”

Mairon nodded. “That makes sense.” He kicked his heels against the anvil’s stand and wished he felt less adrift. “Umm…do you think…would you be willing to make it known? To anyone I’ve hurt…that if they want an apology or recompense or just to talk that…that they’re invited to find me here?”

“Are you ready for that?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. I’m going to do it anyway.”

“I’ll spread the word.” Aulë turned back to his work when Mairon said nothing more. “I need a drop of your blood.”

Mairon held out his hand. Aulë pricked his finger with a knife point and smoothed the resulting drop over the faintly glowing brass. He quenched it and polished it, humming in low tones, checking that no sharp edges remained. 

“Let’s get this fitted on you, then.”

Mairon unbuttoned the top of his robe and pulled his hair aside. As Aulë pushed back the fabric to bare Mairon’s neck, he froze. “Are you all right? If he’s hurting you…”

 _Void, how badly am I bruised for him to sound so shocked?_ “It’s fine. I wanted it. I enjoyed it.” He hoped Aulë would drop it, but when he glanced up, he saw neither the mocking leer nor the scornful pity he feared. Only concern.

“If he ever does anything you don’t want, you can come to me. You know that, right? You can tell me anything. I’ll help you, and I won’t judge.”

Mairon nodded. “But I did want this.”

“All right. Not my business then. I…uh…I know Oromë’s folk enjoy that sort of thing too, sometimes. I just…Sorry.”

Mairon’s lips quirked into a tiny smile. “It’s all right. Didn’t mean to make you uneasy.”

Aulë bent the brass around his neck. The freshly annealed metal formed easily in his hands, but Mairon knew it was solely through exceeding care that neither fingers nor the band bumped any of his bruises. Nevertheless he started to panic as Aulë brought the ends together. Cold metal surrounded his being, shrinking, squeezing him in, choking his breath. 

Aulë’s hand on his shoulder grounded him. “Is it too small?”

He shook his head. The sudden sense of constriction gripping him had little to do with the actual size of the collar; he could tell Aulë had made sure to leave enough room for comfort. 

“It’s the enchantment, then. I’m sorry, I know that’s not pleasant. If you can’t bear it, I’ll take it off.”

The immediacy of the desire to claw at his throat was receding as Mairon forced his lungs to fill. “I think…I don’t know. I don’t know if I can get used to this.” 

“As long as you don’t try to fight it, I think you’ll adjust. Do you want me to finish? It’ll feel pretty intense when the enchantment seals, but that should calm back down in a minute.”

Mairon took a deep breath and braced himself. “Yeah. Do it.”

Aulë slid a finger under the join to protect Mairon from the heat while he fused the metal with a note of Song. Intense was a lackluster description, Mairon thought. It was like the moment a trap snapped shut on a frantic animal, pain and terror blinding him as he sensed himself caught with no way out. _I do have a way out,_ he reminded himself fiercely. _I chose this. I can’t let Melkor use me to hurt anyone._

Mairon found himself panting for air and clutching Aulë’s arm to steady himself, but Aulë was right. The wave of panic passed, and the longer Mairon thought about it, the less the collar bothered him. He swallowed, turned his head back and forth, put a finger under it and tugged. It felt just slightly too tight, but he knew that wasn't physical and couldn’t be fixed. 

“I can live with that.”


	6. Curufin

Mairon wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to come along to the market in Tirion. He’d asked Aulë for fabric and thread to make new clothes, and instead of pulling some yardage from his overflowing storerooms, Aulë had invited him to spend the afternoon in town. Mairon’s curiosity had gotten the better of him, and now he was trailing Aulë and a couple of Maiar from stall to stall, standing awkwardly by while Aulë caught up on Elvish gossip and praised the sellers’ craftsmanship. The narrow streets were crowded, colorful, and noisy, and the Sun beat down with an unnatural brightness that no one else seemed to mind. 

Mairon kept his hood up and clung to the shadows, hoping to avoid recognition as much as the painful light. Aulë’s hearty laugh resounded through the street. He’d been trading stories with a dyer and showed no signs of stopping. Mairon didn’t see the humor in surprise colors resulting from mislabeled dyestuffs. He wandered along, occasionally touching a bolt of fabric that caught his eye. Aulë had promised him whatever he wanted to clothe himself and his lord, but he couldn’t decide what would be appropriate to their station. He paused by a richly brocaded black-on-black silk and thought how well it would complement Melkor’s eyes. _Too much?_ They mustn’t appear overly proud, but at the same time they needed to maintain dignity. That probably ruled out the crimson samite embroidered with tiny gold stars. Pity. He could imagine how Melkor would appreciate him in it.

It took a moment for the voices to register.

“Is that… _Gorthaur?!_ ”

“That’s ridiculous. How…shit. No, don’t!”

Before he could respond or spot who had noticed him, a fist collided with his face. Mairon staggered back, glancing around desperately for Aulë. Whatever happened, he couldn’t fight back. He couldn’t risk it; no one would believe him. He deserved it anyway. Another punch landed, this time in his ribs. Struggling for breath, Mairon sank to his knees. He recognized the dog first. That gigantic wolfhound. He still had nightmares about its jaws closing around his throat. Not one, but two of Maedhros’ brothers stood beside it. The pale-haired one, the hunter, Huan’s master, restrained the other. He had Celebrimbor’s nose and fire in his eyes. His hands clenched in fists, and he fought his brother’s arms. 

“Let me go!”

“Curufin, you can’t! Not here, not in the street.”

“You saw what he did to my son!”

“I know, I know! I’m not saying you shouldn’t, just not here! You want to get us kicked out of Tirion again?”

“I don’t care! He can’t be here!”

“Come on, Ammë’s gonna wonder where we are. We’ll deal with him later, ok?”

“You sure?”

“I’ll help.”

“Fine.” Curufin spat in Mairon’s face and let his brother—Celegorm, Mairon’s mind belatedly supplied—drag him away. 

Mairon remained on his knees, too stunned to move, until Huan and both elves were out of sight.

“Hey, are you all right?” A young elleth held out her hand. 

Mairon wiped his face on his sleeve and let her help him up. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

“I saw what he did. Should I call for the watch?”

“There’s no need.”

Aulë must have heard the commotion; he waded through the crowd in their direction. His eyes rested on Mairon’s throbbing cheek. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Mairon insisted, annoyance creeping into his voice. “I’d like to go home.”

*

Melkor’s attention was fixed on a stack of unbound pages, his pen moving gracefully across their white expanse. He scowled when he saw Mairon. “What happened to you?”

“Curufin happened.”

“Fëanor’s kid? You couldn’t handle him?” 

Mairon huffed. “That’s not…I told you about Tyelpë? He’s Tyelpë’s father.” It felt wrong to say the fond nickname that had turned to poison on his lips, but he thought it would be worse to use Celebrimbor’s full address as if that intimacy had never existed.

“That explains why he wanted to hit you, but not why you permitted it.”

Mairon pondered the cost of admitting he’d let his guard down and been caught by surprise—when had that last happened? He had grown weak. “He’s Tyelpë’s father,” he repeated instead. “I couldn’t even…I should’ve said something; I wanted to, and instead…I just froze.” He hated how his voice trembled.

Melkor’s gaze softened at Mairon’s evident distress. “Come here.”

Mairon settled on the floor at Melkor’s feet and leaned against him, relaxing slowly as his master stroked his hair. “I loved him,” he murmured. “You weren’t there, and I saw so much of you in him—the way he could look at things that seemed unrelated and pull them together, the way he leapt to create something new out of a swirling chaos of ideas—we complemented each other so well. He filled so much of that emptiness…and then I broke him utterly. Between his screams he kept crying that he loved me, that I had to stop before I went too far and did something that couldn’t be fixed, that I’d regret it forever, and I don’t think he understood by then that ‘too late’ had long since passed us by…” He trailed off, brushing tears from his eyes. “So that’s why…Curufin can do what he wants. He could cut me into tiny pieces and I wouldn’t raise a finger against him.”

Melkor’s fingers tightened in his hair. “No. No, he can’t. You can’t do that to me. I can’t lose you again.”

Mairon stilled, realizing what he’d said. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I won’t do that to you. I’ll…I don’t know.”

That night his old dream came to him, teeth crushing his throat, growling and snarling and hot breath on his flesh, Lúthien’s mocking scorn and threats. In the dream, she taunted him and refused to release him, and Huan’s mouth began to shut. He woke whimpering, curled in Melkor’s arms, shaking and sobbing with dread.

Melkor pulled a blanket around him and held him tighter. “Shh, little flame. You’re safe; what troubles you?”

He raised a hand to his neck. The gnarled scars had been left behind several bodies ago, but his memory hadn’t faded. “Old thoughts.” 

With his head cradled on Melkor’s chest, he could hear soothing rumblings of ancient Music: magma stirring beneath the earth, molds creeping through dark places, stars burning out. Only when he hung on the verge of sleep again did he wonder if Melkor had slept at all.

*

“You have visitors,” a Maia informed him. She looked disapproving. “Celegorm and Curufin, sons of Fëanor. Lord Aulë asks that you send word if you’d like his company.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Mairon glanced over at Melkor. He was busy writing and didn’t seem to have heard the knock on the door. Mairon slipped out quietly and followed the Maia to a small study. 

Curufin and Celegorm rose as he entered, Celegorm moving silently to close the door and station himself and Huan in front of it. Mairon bowed deeply to Curufin. “I’m so sorry for what I—”

“I don’t care.” Curufin cut him off. 

“Then what do you want of me?”

“I think you know.”

Worrying at his lip, Mairon sighed. Aulë would likely hear him if he called, but… He met Curufin’s gaze. “All right. No blades, and I have to be able to walk out of here when it's over.”

Curufin smiled coldly. “Have you any way to enforce that?”

“Lord Aulë will be greatly displeased if I come to too much harm.”

“Fair. Then I, too, have a rule. You won’t open your mouth again. There’s nothing you could possibly say that I want to hear, and I won't abide your mockery.”

Mairon nodded his acceptance.

“Obedient. I like it.”

The first blows were the hardest to take. Mairon closed his eyes, after Curufin threw him to the ground, and sought the rhythm amid the pain. Curufin stayed away from his face this time, and for that he was grateful.

“I had to watch while you tortured my baby.” Curufin sounded perfectly calm, but somehow his icy voice was more menacing than shouting would have been. “Lady Vairë let me stand behind her while she wove. I saw it all.”

Mairon wanted to respond, to say anything that might lessen Curufin’s anguish, but Curufin had demanded his silence; perhaps that was the best he could give. He hoped it would suffice. Curufin’s rage burned long and bright. At some point, Mairon wasn’t sure when, he broke a rib, and Mairon cried out whenever he struck too near it, curling into himself to protect it.

“Get up.” Curufin kicked him where he lay.

He struggled, but he climbed to his feet and stood, swaying.

“You can walk?”

Mairon nodded.

“Good. Then I’ve kept our bargain.” He turned to Celegorm. “Isn’t it nice to see that Sauron isn’t so invincible after all?”

Celegorm gave him a wolfish grin.

“Can you take one more?” Curufin looked back at Mairon. 

He steeled himself and assented.

Curufin’s bloody knuckles hit him squarely in the solar plexus. He collapsed, fighting to breathe, agony from his rib shooting through his body.

“Well then, I think I’m done.” Curufin headed toward the door. “You ready to go?”

“Just a minute,” Celegorm said. He walked over and hauled Mairon up by his hair. Drawing back his hand, he slapped Mairon hard across the face, first one side and then the other. “That’s for Finrod.”

After they were gone, Mairon gingerly pulled himself up against the wall, sitting with his knees to his chest and his forehead resting on his arms. He stayed there, trying not to feel or to think. 

“Little flame?” Melkor’s low musical voice broke through his stupor. “You’ve been gone a long time. They said you—you’re hurt.” Mairon felt his lord crouch beside him. He resisted when Melkor tried to lift his head. “Mairon. Look at me.” Reluctantly he gave in. “Curufin did this?”

“Yes.”

Melkor sighed. “I should be furious with you, letting yourself be treated this way. No one should punish my lieutenant but me.”

Mairon shivered and lowered his eyes. 

“I’m not, though. I don’t know why you think you have to do this, but if you’re going to do it anyway, at least let me take care of you.”

Wincing as he moved, Mairon reached for his lord.

Melkor carefully picked him up, carried him back to their chambers, and laid him on the bed. “Now, tell me what hurts most. I won’t be able to heal much; let’s make it count.”


	7. Usefulness

Melkor insisted on keeping Mairon close until he was well, and Mairon was too weary and sore to protest. He sat near his lord and stitched or walked with him by twilight through their garden. It was overgrown with yew and cedar, and night-blooming flowers scented the air. Mairon remembered their secret trysts in the gardens of Almaren long ago, and he wondered how different the world might have been if they’d chosen another path. If they could have held on to that happiness. 

Mairon perched crosslegged on his favorite bench one afternoon, under a dark evergreen whose dense branches shielded him from the worst of the sunlight, embroidering the edge of a sleeve with a pattern of interlocking lines he’d picked up from a tribe in Far Harad. Melkor joined him with a sheaf of paper and his pen and ink. They worked in companionable silence until Mairon knotted off his thread.

“What are you writing?” he asked.

“The histories of Utumno and Angband. I won’t have the only knowledge of them available be what’s written by those who hated us and never saw within.” Melkor shifted his pages, and Mairon saw bits of drawings among them. “When Thangorodrim fell…when I bade you leave…how much did you watch of what came after?”

“Nothing. You ordered me not to stick around and risk capture. You know that.”

“I also know you had a bad habit of doing whatever you wanted anyway as soon as I was out of sight.”

Mairon grinned. “My ideas were better.”

“I’m not above hurting you.” Melkor poked his half-mended rib.

Whining, Mairon laid his cheek on Melkor’s shoulder and gazed up at him through his lashes. Melkor put an arm around him, holding him tight and kissing him, soft and lingering, as if even the pretence of discord was too much.

“I didn’t watch what happened to Angband after they took you,” Mairon admitted. “I just circled the camp, trying to find a way to get you back. Eönwë almost caught me, but I managed to talk my way out.”

Melkor squeezed him tighter. “They ransacked our treasuries and carried out all our gold and jewels, but they did not touch our records. All of that was drowned, I suppose, with Beleriand, if they didn’t burn it first. Everything—the data you kept so meticulously, our experimental notes, the schematics of your inventions, thousands of years' worth…it’s gone. It was infinitely more precious than any gold, and they didn’t care. I thought…at least our story should be preserved. It isn't much, but it's something.”

“I…hadn’t considered that. There was so much else to grieve….” Mairon ran a finger over his embroidery and started plucking out a section he wasn’t happy with. “I lost a lot when Barad-dûr fell, too…not that it mattered to me by then. And…in Ost-in-Edhil.” He tried not to think of Celebrimbor torn apart. Not today. “So much that wasn’t written anywhere, just held in the minds of scholars and artists.” _And I did that myself._

“Mmm. I wish I could’ve saved half of what was in Fëanor’s head. But I think binding his spirit would have been beyond even your skill.”

They wandered in reverie, Mairon leaning against Melkor.

“Do you think it our Fate?” Melkor said at last. “That in war we must always lose more than we gain?”

Mairon pondered his answer with care. “I think…it is all I have ever known.” He reached for Melkor’s pages and flipped through them, looking for the drawings he’d glimpsed. He paused on a detailed rendering of Angband’s front gates showing the mechanism that swung the weighty doors closed. Much of it he had forged himself. Beneath it lay a sketch of a fortress, if it was fair to call it that when it lacked much in the way of defense. Spires and buttresses climbed toward the sky like black filigree. Mairon felt it strangely homely. 

“Where was this? It doesn’t look like something an elf would build.”

“Oh, that?” Melkor claimed his drawings and tucked them back in his stack. “I was playing around. A warm-up.”

*

It didn’t take Mairon long to have his fill of stillness. Soon he had finished new wardrobes for Melkor and himself (Aulë had ended up opening his storerooms after all), and he grew increasingly bored and irritable. With nothing to distract him, it was too easy to let himself be drawn into a spiral of worries—about Melkor, about the other elves that could show up wanting vengeance. About Celebrimbor. 

He knew better than to snarl at Melkor’s demand that he cease pacing, but that didn’t deter him. Almost instantly Melkor’s hand grasped his throat. His back slammed into the wall, and Melkor held him there until he stopped fighting and relaxed into his master’s grip. The comfort of feeling the overwhelming solidity of Melkor’s strength calmed some of his restlessness.

“Why aren’t you in the forge?” Melkor asked.

“It’s daytime. I’m not allowed.”

“So sleep in the day and work by night.”

“And what would be the point? I’ve no one to work for, no great project, no one who would want whatever tawdry trinkets I would make. It’s stupid to even try.” 

Mairon refused to tell Melkor of the night he had visited the forge. As he’d stood by a rack of hammers, looking for one that fit well in his hand, he’d been overcome with memories of Celebrimbor. He had seen his Tyelpë helping young apprentices, Tyelpë working through the night on the wings of a new idea, Tyelpë chained to his workshop wall with his own tools arrayed for his torture. Mairon had dropped his hammer and fled, struggling for breath, and he had not returned. Since his encounter with Curufin, Celebrimbor’s shadow seemed to lurk around every corner, and every twinge of a bruise brought him to mind anew.

Melkor squeezed his throat and recalled him to the present. “If you don’t want to be here, you’ve only to say so. I can plan an elaborate escape and find an obscure corner of Middle-Earth for us to claim anytime you’re ready.”

“I—no. That's not what I want.”

“Then stop moping and go ask Aulë for work. I’m sure he can find you something useful to do.”

“Oh. Yes. I’ll do that.”

Melkor nodded and released him.

*

“Of course!” Aulë’s cheer made all problems seem simpler. “Let’s see…nothing that will keep you away…can’t have you working with many elves…what about the library? My last good librarian left me a few years ago, and no one’s catalogued or organized it properly since.”

Mairon’s ears perked at the thought. “That would be perfect.”

“That’s settled, then! You can work half days, and be sure to post your hours so people know when you’ll be there.”

“Aulë,” Yavanna swept into the room. “Can I get one of your Maiar—” Her eyes narrowed when she noticed Mairon. He bowed and tried to slip away, but Aulë caught his sleeve.

“I need an extra hand in the orchard, and my people are all quite busy,” she finished. “Can I borrow someone for the morning?”

“Certainly, my dear. Here, take Mairon. He was just asking for work.” He pushed Mairon forward.

For a brief moment, Mairon and Yavanna were united in glaring at Aulë.

The Vala sighed. “Look, it’ll be good for him, and you won’t have to worry about him getting distracted and wandering off to forge you new garden shears like the last time you took one of my smiths.”

Yavanna’s lips quirked. “Fine, but if I have to put up with any bad behavior, I’m holding you responsible.”

“Mairon, please don’t get me in trouble with my wife.” Aulë’s tone was serious, but Mairon saw the twinkle in his eye. _Ah well, I did ask._

Yavanna’s presence burst with insistent swelling greenness. Mairon felt her power surrounding him within and without from a thousand directions, a rustling prickle under his skin, inescapable, as though her shoots might sprout from his body next and swallow him whole. He followed nonetheless, away from the carefully cultivated gardens and paved yards of Aulë’s halls, down winding paths through meadows and woods. 

They walked in silence, Mairon a few paces behind, quietly observing. Yavanna’s abundant black hair fell unrestrained down her back in tiny ringlets full of flowers. A tangle of leaves and vines draped her wide hips and rounded belly in a multitude of greens. On her arms were twin bands of gold leaves, the metal standing out brightly against her rich brown skin. Love tokens from Aulë, Mairon supposed.

“Stop staring and get busy.” Yavanna’s terse voice shook him to attention. “We’ve got a lot of trees to plant.”

Mairon glanced around. “This is your orchard? It looks so…wild.” _Untidy,_ he thought to himself. Nothing grew in straight lines. He could hardly tell where it ended and the surrounding forest began. Undergrowth twisted through berry brambles and patches of nettles. Fruit trees mingled with hazelnuts and locust. 

“And why shouldn’t it? Everything here grows exactly where it ought to grow. Does that make it more wild, or less?” She handed Mairon a shovel and started setting out small saplings from a cart. “Dig here,” she commanded, tracing a circle on the ground. “So wide, and so deep.” She demonstrated with her hands. 

Mairon complied, first tearing away enough clover and wildflowers to see the earth below. Work was a relief, even if it was not the sort he would have chosen. The slow burn in his muscles blotted out the knot of anxiety and fear that had been eating at his mind. He had eight trees in the ground and was digging for the ninth when he felt a familiar, subtle presence. Looking for its source, his eyes lit on a fallen tree.

“Hello, old friend.” He rested a hand on the rotting log and sent a tiny pulse of power into it, teasing a few threads of mycelium to the surface. “I never thought I’d see you here.”

“We do have mushrooms in Valinor,” Yavanna said drily, appearing at his shoulder. “Surprised?”

“My Master did create them, after all.” Mairon pushed a little more power into the delicate white strands. His collar pinched uncomfortably, but it was enough. A single mushroom broke through the bark, its cap spreading and opening like an uncouth bloom. Yavanna watched thoughtfully.

“Mostly I’m surprised because this is a strain I developed myself.”

“Indeed?”

“We started with molds and slimes in the depths of Utumno.” The story tumbled from him unbidden. “We needed something that would grow in near dark, in damp tunnels where nothing else could thrive. They were medicine and dyestuff and even food at times, but we kept working toward something better. The first mushrooms. We called them Corpse Devourers. There were always plenty of bodies, pieces nothing else would eat. They could break down the dead in a matter of weeks, and they fruited thickly and often. We fed our troops on them.” Mairon wrinkled his nose. “They never tasted very good, but if the orcs complained it never reached my ears.”

“And these?”

Mairon smiled wryly. “I wanted to improve the flavor. Had to switch to growing them on wood.”

“I brought back a number of fungi from Middle-Earth. Cast your mind about; see the others.”

Reaching out with great care not to be overwhelmed, Mairon sought the distinct webs of mycelium among the noisy music of so many plants and animals. One by one, he picked them out, recognizing a few. He rose and touched a tree trunk, looking down into its roots in wonder.

“What is this? I feel it living entwined with the tree, but it isn’t destroying it?”

Yavanna smiled. “I too can twist others’ work to my own ends. This is my change, a mushroom that lives in cooperation with its host, each supporting the other.”

“Sounds like something you would do.”

She seemed to be sizing him up. “I could use someone with your knowledge and skills.”

“It was my Master’s specialty, not mine. I’m willing to do what I can, but he could help you far better than I.” Mairon wasn’t sure Melkor would do any such thing, but the possibility of collaboration between him and Yavanna…that could heal all sorts of rifts.

“That tree-murderer.” Yavanna spat. “I’ll ask him for nothing.”

 _So much for that idea._ “I’ll do what I can for you.”

“I’m working on a problem that you’re at least partly responsible for. In the aftermath of your war, Middle-Earth is facing a spread of disease and fungal blights. Famine will be a risk for years to come, and already I’m losing whole species of trees.”

Mairon had long used blight as a weapon in Beleriand, and he’d embraced it again in Mirkwood and the lands outside Mordor. It had effectively gained him control of vast regions rendered lifeless, but little was left worth ruling in the aftermath. He was not surprised to hear it had gone further without his help.

“I’ve been breeding resistance into various plants, but I could use any insight into—”

“No.” Mairon’s mind was spinning through factors and potential solutions.

“What do you mean, no?! You don’t care to help after all?”

“Sorry! I meant breeding plants, it’s not very fast, is it? Especially trees. They’ll take generations to grow and spread. I don’t have any ideas there. What I would do is introduce something quicker and stronger than the blight, something that can get ahead of it and take its place. A beneficial fungus that can outcompete the deadly one.” He gestured to the partnered tree. “Something like that.”

“Hmm. Do you think you can breed such a thing?”

Mairon grinned. “Give me a lab.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have a chapter up next week. Happy Easter if you celebrate!


	8. Celebrimbor

Melkor was already up when Mairon woke. He sat in a corner where the first dawn light could not touch him, playing with a swirling cloud of black smoke. He stretched it between his hands, shaping it into mountains, a running wolf, horned and antlered figures dancing around a fire. His eyes gleamed in the darkness. He was unutterably beautiful, tall and pale, drawing the shadows about him like a cloak, and Mairon was struck with the desire to throw himself on his knees and worship him.

Instead he rose, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders against the early morning chill, and padded over silently to kiss his lord’s cheek. Only this close did he note the lines of weariness on Melkor’s face. Melkor dispelled his smoke and pulled Mairon into his lap for a longer kiss. 

“Good morning, precious.”

Mairon nuzzled sleepily against his chest.

“Are you going back to the library today? There are some books I want.”

“Mmhmm. Yavanna’s in the morning, library in the afternoon. I’ll fetch them for you, but you could go yourself. Start getting acquainted with people. Not stay holed up here all the time.”

Melkor snorted. “What would I want with that? I’m quite happy to remain ‘holed up,’ as you put it.” He combed his fingers through Mairon’s long hair, letting the light catch in it and wake it to flame. “I’m still astonished Yavanna would have anything to do with you.”

“I think she cares more for results than who gets them. She has samples of thousands of things we created; can you imagine? Fungi and diseases and seeds of food crops bred for Angband, all kept in a chamber of ice for study.”

“Does she indeed?”

“Her people don’t know what to do with half of it. One of them told me I shouldn’t bother working with our scarlet boletes, that they’d never fruit again.”

“I hope you stared them in the eye and made it fruit right there in your hand.”

Mairon smirked. “You know me so well. I wish you could have seen his face.” He glanced at where the Sun hung above the horizon. “I want to get started soon; I have an idea I want to test.” It was hard to leave the coziness of Melkor’s arms. “Would you braid my hair before I go?”

“Sit on the floor where I can reach it.” 

Mairon rarely took the time to put more than a couple of small braids in his hair; often when working he would pull it into a single braid down his back. Melkor’s care was evident as he separated strands and plaited them, combing out tangles so gently Mairon could hardly tell they existed. The warmth of Melkor’s admiration surrounded him. When Melkor finished, Mairon looked in the mirror. Smaller braids flowed together into larger ones and parted again, crisscrossing in a chaotic web that balanced itself even in its asymmetry. It could have come from no other hands. 

Melkor put his arms around Mairon from behind. “Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous. And everyone will see that I’m yours.”

If Melkor whispered “Are you, though?” under his breath, Mairon pretended not to hear.

*

“I SAID don’t PUT that back on the shelf!” 

The elf turned to Mairon and glared. “Look. I’ve been using this library for over a hundred years. I think I have a good idea where the books go.”

Mairon doubted it, based on the number of misshelved and completely uncatalogued works he had already retrieved. “I’m sure you do.” He hated lying for civility’s sake. “But I don’t care. The rules apply to everyone. No exceptions.”

“I didn’t even take it outside!”

“Why is it such a big deal? Just put it in the basket or hand it to me!” He let a note of power creep into his command.

“Oh, I’m sure that tone sent your _orcs_ scurrying, _Sauron,_ but you’re not going to speak to a Noldo of Aman like that, and if you think—”

“Excuse me, gentlemen, is there a problem?”

Both flinched away from Aulë’s sudden and overwhelming presence. 

The elf recovered and leapt in first. “Dark lord Sauron here has been yelling and trying to intimidate me right out of the library.”

Aulë looked to Mairon.

“My lord, all I ask is that returned books be left for me to reshelve. I cannot keep an orderly collection or track what’s being used if no one’s willing to cooperate.”

“Is this what he told you?” Aulë asked the elf.

Scowling, he nodded.

“As long as you can access what you need, I must insist you follow Mairon’s rules. He is in charge of the library, and you will treat him with respect.”

The elf curled his lip in disgust and, throwing the book he still held in the return basket, stalked out. The doors slammed behind him.

“Mairon. You cannot yell at your patrons. You’re here to serve them; they shouldn’t leave upset.”

“I can’t control their anger at the fact of who I am.”

“But you can control how you speak to them.”

“I just need them to cooperate.”

“If I hear that you’ve been scaring people again, you will be out of this position. Is that clear?”

Mairon bowed, tension radiating from every plane of his body. “Yes, my lord.”

As soon as Aulë had left, Mairon began straightening up. He couldn’t endure another difficult elf today. Most of those he’d met so far had been surprisingly polite and unbothersome, and a few had been enthusiastically thankful when he’d managed to turn up texts they’d been searching for with no luck. But the exceptions… He allowed himself a very brief moment of missing the ability to have troublemakers executed. Painfully.

He moved a stack of books whose ancient, crumbling parchment needed to be repaired or replaced to a back room and grabbed Melkor’s list. _Valinor: A Geological Survey. Atlas of the Blessed Realms. 14: The Valar and Their Estates. The Darkening and Its Aftermath._ Mairon raised an eyebrow, but he gathered them up, marked the titles in his record, and made his way through the halls home to Melkor.

“There’s someone looking for you,” Melkor said, setting the books on his desk. “I told him you wouldn’t be long. He’s waiting outside.”

Mairon closed his eyes and sighed. 

*

A heartwrenchingly familiar figure stood by the garden gate. “Hello, Annatar.”

“Tyelpë.” Mairon’s voice was a ragged whisper. He stared, then shook himself and approached. “I…you’re here. Do you…want to come in? Sit and talk?” He reached for the gate to unlatch it.

Celebrimbor snatched the top of the gate and held it firmly shut between them. He smiled. “Right here is fine.”

Mairon nodded and backed away to give Celebrimbor the space he needed.

“I heard you were in Aman, and I had to see for myself.”

“I didn’t know if you were alive.” Mairon couldn’t take his eyes off Celebrimbor’s hands. They rested on the gate, perfect and unscarred.

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to be for a long time.” 

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Really? So what, it's my fault, and you were forced somehow to torture me? For all that was worth. Our rings are gone now, and our work has come to nothing in the end.”

“Not nothing. Not your three—they did what you hoped. They preserved Lórien; they preserved Imladris; they kept me away long enough to be defeated. They may be worth little now, but they did not fail you.”

Celebrimbor considered a long while before he spoke. “Do you know the worst part?”

 _The look in your eyes when you knew you’d never use your hands again,_ Mairon thought, but he said nothing.

“It was learning that you never loved me at all. That everything between us was a lie. I gave you all of myself, and you were just using me. Can you even begin to comprehend what a betrayal that was?”

“But that isn’t true!” The words broke from Mairon unbidden. “I did—I do love you.”

“Oh, Annatar. You don’t do that to people you love.”

Mairon realized Celebrimbor was trembling, though he hid it well. _Because of me. Because he’ll always fear me._ “I’m sorry.” He took another step back. “You were right. When you said I’ll always regret it. I do.”

“Mmm. I’m sure you regretted it sorely the whole time you were conquering the world and laughing.”

“I have had no satisfaction and no joy from the day I took you captive until the day I died. Does it please you, knowing that?”

Celebrimbor looked thoughtful. “No,” he said at last. “I can’t say that it does. I never wanted you to be unhappy, and I cannot make myself want it now.”

Mairon turned his head away. He thought he might cry, and he couldn’t bear for Tyelpë to see. “Why?”

“Because that’s what love is.”

“I would do anything if I could make you happy again.”

“There were many things you could've done once. You could have surrendered to me instead of levelling my city. You could have chosen not to create the One Ring, or you could have destroyed it. You could have spared my people or stopped my torment and set me free. As I begged, I recall, repeatedly. If you had done any of those, I could have forgiven you; we could have talked and held each other and found a solution. Now? There’s nothing.”

The tears he had dreaded ran down Mairon’s cheeks. He made no move to wipe them away.

“Annatar, why didn’t you tell me the truth? If you really cared, there should never have been enmity between us in the first place. I shouldn’t have had to discover your secret like that; you never should have thought you had to flee.”

“Is it so much easier to forgive what I’ve done to your people, to your family, than what I’ve done to you?”

“You couldn’t trust me enough to even try? It was better to start a war?”

“I would have made the Ring regardless of whether you found me out, and once it existed, war was inevitable.”

“I might have dissuaded you, if we could have talked.”

“Not from that.”

“Why did you want it so badly anyway? I believed you were happy with me. Did you really need the whole world to bow to you?”

“What?! No! I needed a way to get Him back!”

“Him…?” Comprehension dawned on Celebrimbor’s face. “I…all those moments when you seemed distant. That aching emptiness in the depths of your eyes. Times you didn’t quite see me when we kissed…I thought, after, it was because you didn’t want me; it was all pretend…but…”

“I loved you, and I missed Melkor so much it hurt. I didn’t want us to end that way.”

“I could’ve…no. I couldn’t have helped you unleash Morgoth on the world again. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t call him that.”

“But you have him now.”

“Yes. Through the mercy of others, and no deed of mine.”

“I thought it outrageous when I heard the Valar had brought you both here. Now…perhaps I’m glad for you. You waited long enough.” He turned to go.

“Wait. Can we…can I see you again?”

Celebrimbor’s gaze seemed to pierce him. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“I see.” Mairon hoped his voice did not betray how much his words cost him. “As you wish. Farewell, then, Tyelpë. Truly.”

Celebrimbor looked as if he would say more, but he shook his head. So softly that it had to be mostly to himself, he murmured, “It wouldn’t be wise at all.”

Mairon watched until he was gone and hoped Melkor wouldn't come upon him still sobbing.


	9. Doubt

Mairon gave up when he couldn’t stop weeping and sought Melkor as evening fell. He asked no questions but simply folded Mairon in his embrace.

“That was Tyelpë,” Mairon finally managed between sobs. “After…after everything…he came.”

It was a long while before Melkor spoke. “If you’d rather be with him…I won’t stop you.”

Mairon raised his head. “Why would you think that? All that I have done since we parted, I did to be with you. I don’t want him instead of you! In a perfect world, maybe I could have you both…but…” Tears choked his words, and he let Melkor push him into his shoulder.

“Then I don’t understand. If you think I’d stand in your way…I never begrudged you your lovers before.”

“He doesn’t want me.”

Melkor stared as if the very idea were unfathomable.

“How could I expect anything else, after what I did to him?”

“He actually rejected you? In as many words?”

Hiding his face in Melkor’s robes, Mairon nodded. Melkor sighed and held him close.

Something occurred to Mairon. “My lord…I never took a lover while I had you.”

Melkor raised a confused eyebrow.

“Well, unless you count that truly unfortunate night with Gothmog, of which we shall never speak again,” Mairon amended. “I didn’t ‘take lovers,’ I raped our prisoners. And I need you to understand the difference.”

Melkor sat silent and still. “Mairon,” he said at last. “Were you ever…unwilling, the nights you spent with me?”

Mairon looked up at him, solemn and sad. “Never.”

“Would you have said the same if you weren’t sworn to obedience? There were nights…I know you enjoy pain, but there were nights when I was brutal, when I took no care for you…you always bore it without complaint, but…”

“I would have done the same, and I would do it all again. I always wanted you. Even when it hurt.”

“I spent a lot of time thinking, when I was…away.” The cloud that came over his features jolted Mairon a little from his own misery. “I spent a lot of time thinking about you. How you deserved better. How unfair my expectations of you were, especially there at the end. I made you shoulder far too heavy a burden. And then…you had your own life, for so long. Your own kingdom. And this past you hate so much...I did that to you. I made you what you were.”

“That was my choice; you didn’t force me.”

“Still. I wondered…maybe you don’t want to be tied to me anymore. I can’t think as you do. I see nothing wrong with what we did. We had the power to take what we wanted, and we held it by that power. What kind of life do you think we can have together, if we can’t share that anymore?”

“I love you, and you love me, yes? We’ll figure it out. I’m not going anywhere.”

Melkor gazed steadily down into his eyes. “There was a time when you declared your love in the severed heads of my enemies.”

“Is it my love you want, or the piles of heads?” Mairon tried to conceal his rising anger and knew he was not succeeding. “One of those you never lost. Do you doubt it, now that I cannot say it the same way?”

Melkor didn’t answer.

“You promised. You said you wouldn’t push me or endanger this chance we’ve been given.”

“I did promise. Though I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have to humiliate yourself like this.” He touched the brass collar around Mairon’s throat, scowling. “You’re better than them. They shouldn’t be allowed to think otherwise.”

“I am not ashamed to do what I must. I will make a place for us where we can hold our heads high, and I will do it without bloodshed.”

“My precious little Maia. That shouldn’t be on you.” 

*

Sleep refused to come for Mairon. Melkor didn't join him in bed, preferring to wander the garden in the starless night. After tossing and turning for what felt like ages, he dragged himself up and slipped out. He didn’t dare brave the forge again, but he had a driving need to bury himself in craft. The ways of shaping matter with fire weren’t limited to the forge. He walked past empty classrooms and workshops, lighting his way with a flickering blue flame in the palm of his hand. Maintaining the light took effort, though once he would have done it without a thought, and his collar seemed to tighten, but he clung to the distraction. It wasn't enough.

How could Melkor question his devotion? He had lived and breathed nothing else since the day they met. But then, he had given himself to Melkor with a whole heart, withholding nothing. If he could do that no longer…if he had to choose between his lord and holding to his new vision…. He had sworn his good intentions to Manwë, but if he were torn between two unrelenting forces…could he really let go of Melkor after fighting for him so long?

He found what he was looking for, a room of lamps and kilns and rods of glass ready to be worked, and he pushed down his grief and his fears. Choosing several colors of glass, he readied a workstation, laying out a few tools and lighting the oil lamp, pumping the bellows with one foot to keep the flame burning hot. He played at first, heating the glass in the flame, mingling colors, twirling and shaping them into marbles and beads. It had been long ages since he’d worked with glass, but it came as naturally as everything under Aulë’s roof. 

He concentrated easily on the point of glowing, viscous glass between his hands to the exclusion of all else, but as he paused to consider what to make next, his thoughts returned to Melkor. Perhaps a small love-gift would be met with scorn, and Mairon almost talked himself out of the idea…but he wanted to do _something_. 

He took a blue so deep it was almost black and streaked it with neon green and bright purple, adding in tiny flakes of silver foil until the colors danced and shimmered like the lights they had watched together in the north sky over Angband on nights when the wind blew the smoke away. He stretched the glass into a smoothly tapered pen handle and fused to it a nib with grooved lines to hold the ink running down to a graceful point. Turning it in his fingers, he checked the straightness, fixing minute inconsistencies until he was satisfied. Mairon felt calmer as he cleaned his station, and when he curled up once more in the cold, empty bed, he fell quickly into a deep sleep.

*

Melkor seemed distant, and Mairon didn't know how to close the space between them. It hurt, so soon after finding and re-losing Tyelpë, to face the spectre of losing the one person he'd always counted on too. He prayed it wouldn't come to that and spent every waking moment at work so he wouldn't hear Melkor’s silence. 

“My lord?” Mairon entered their rooms with an agar plate full of spreading white mycelium in hand. “Can you spare a moment?” The decision to bring his problem to his lord he’d made impulsively. It was born as much of frustration as of fond memories of the days when all their works were shared.

Melkor raised his eyes from a book. “What do you need?”

“A bit of help, if you don’t mind. I’ve bred this fungal strain for generations, and I’m so close. A tiny shift in its Song is all I need, and I can see exactly what changes to make, but I cannot get it to take, and it’s driving me mad.”

“Let me see.” Melkor held out his hand for the sample. “What do you want to do?”

Laying one palm on the plate and the other to Melkor’s cheek, Mairon began to sing. Before he could voice more than a few notes, he choked. He jerked at his collar, cursing, and pushed his robe back from the burning hot metal to keep it from being singed. “The fucking thing gets worse every time I try.”

“Well, there’s your problem.”

“Thanks.” Bitter sarcasm dripped from his words. “I could never have figured that out.”

Melkor stared at him reproachfully until Mairon bowed his head and muttered an apology. “You could talk to Aulë. I imagine he’d be willing to find some compromise if it’s keeping you from accomplishing your task.”

“I’m not his dog to go begging to have my collar loosed.”

“There is a different approach.”

“How so?”

“This is what you need, yes?” Melkor hummed the outline of Mairon’s tune.

“That’s it.”

“You’re trying to use a big burst of power to splice in the new Song and cut away all the excess, nice and trim and neat.”

“Yes? That’s what I’ve always done?”

“You don’t need to, though. Life resists having order imposed. The Song doesn’t care if there are extra copies of a refrain, if pieces sit unused, if nonsense filler takes up most of the space. You just need your fragment tied in and active. Like so.” Melkor sang again, but this time he took the Song in small bits, repeating them almost at random, his music winding and layering back upon itself. The organism’s Song unfolded easily to accept the new notes. Mairon watched it transform, in awe of his master as he had ever been.

“Sometimes your neatness works against you,” Melkor said as he handed back the altered sample. “This way takes more time, but much less effort, and it’s well within your current power.”

Mairon knelt and kissed Melkor’s hands, careful not to touch the Silmarils’ burn. “Thank you, my lord.”

Melkor tilted Mairon’s chin up and bent to kiss him back. “This is for Yavanna? What does it do?”

“It’s going to live in the roots of wheat. It'll protect fields from several types of blight.”

“I see. I’m sure she’ll be glad you have it ready. Best go show her.”

Mairon wondered if the turn of Melkor’s lips was jealousy or disgust, but he nodded and left. 

*

Yavanna listened carefully as Mairon explained the engineering he’d done to perfect his first defensive fungus and outlined his plans to breed similar symbiotes for other species. But when she took the sample from him, her open expression soured.

“What have you done?! I can sense Morgoth’s taint upon this.”

Mairon scowled at the name. “I did have some assistance, but my lord changed only what I asked and no more. It is exactly as it would have been had I done it all myself.”

“Be that as may be. I told you I wanted nothing to do with him, and here what you’ve brought me is drenched in echoes of his Song.”

“With all respect, my lady, all I know about living things I learned from him. I’ve always collaborated with him and gone to him for aid. Our thoughts run together, and so does our work. I see no functional difference between what I produce with him and what I produce alone.”

“The difference, Mairon, is that you’ve betrayed my trust and gone against my wishes at the first opportunity. If indeed your work cannot be separated, then I will have neither. You’re no longer welcome here.”

As her words sank in, Mairon stared in disbelief. “Please—my lady—don’t.”

“I can’t have you in my house if I can’t rely on you in something so simple.”

“All right. I understand. Just—please don’t throw away what I’ve made because he touched it. Not if it can help people.”

Her stony frown softened minutely. “Whatever good can be had of it, I will have. I promise you that.”

“Then…it’s yours. I would have given you more.” Feeling hollow inside, he departed as quietly as he’d come. There was no one he wished to bid goodbye. 

*

“You see?” said Melkor when Mairon related Yavanna’s words. “They don’t appreciate you, and they never will. To them, you’re only Sauron, with all the death that followed in your wake. My presence makes it worse. You should leave with me and abandon these hypocrites who love to speak of mercy but not to carry it out. Or you should disavow me entirely. They’ll never let you have more.”

“I don’t believe that,” Mairon insisted.

“I don’t want to watch you suffer. You’ve done enough of that.”

“I’ll decide how much is enough. Unless it’s having to watch you resent, and not the suffering itself.” Mairon gazed at him wearily. “Please don’t force me into something I don’t want. I know I can find a way. Trust me enough to let me try.”

“What is it exactly you want?”

“You. A life where I harm no one. To pay my debts.”

Melkor’s eyes held the depths of the limitless night. “They sound like such small things to ask, do they not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dead bodies are Melkor's love language.


	10. Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus midweek update!

The rays of light coursing through the wide library windows slowly lengthened. Spread before Mairon were several massive tomes in various stages of being taken apart and put back together. Mairon double-checked his measurement before cutting a strip of thin leather to cover a new spine. Since the altercation Aulë had ended, Mairon hadn’t seen many elves. Either Aulë had urged them to avoid him, or they’d decided to do so themselves. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know which. Half the point of having a librarian was spoiled if they wouldn’t make use of his help, but that was their loss. He told himself he didn’t care.

He sensed the presence in the doorway before he heard a sound, and he knew it must be someone formidable. None of Aulë’s young students could move so silently. He quickly finished his task and looked up. Maedhros leaned against the jamb, arms crossed, watching him.

Mairon stood and bowed deeply. “Lord Maedhros. What can I do for you?” The ragged, worn features and torn ears he remembered were no more. Maedhros’ face was unnaturally smooth. Even most of his freckles had disappeared. 

“Curufin had an interesting tale for me. He thought you wanted to beg forgiveness, for some reason. I told him he must have misunderstood.”

Mairon blanched. “Ahh…can we go somewhere more private?” He didn’t think it likely, but he couldn’t have anyone walk in on whatever was about to happen.

Maedhros inclined his head. 

Taking care never to step between Maedhros and his exit, Mairon led him to one of the small reading rooms off the main hall. Maedhros followed him inside and pulled the door mostly to, leaving a slight gap.

“So. Let's hear what you have to say for yourself.”

Mairon considered before he spoke. Images spun through his mind, of flayed skin and blood dripping down gaunt ribs, of burn marks and whip marks and Maitimo’s broken pleas. “I won’t ask your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. I only want you to know how sorry I am. What we did—what I did to you was unconscionable. I’m not that anymore. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not. You still think the skies revolve around you and your master? I haven’t dreamed of you since before I died.” Maedhros contemplated him. “They’re not bad words, though. Say them again, on your knees.”

With the easy grace of much practice, Mairon knelt. “I’m truly sorry for what I did to you. For your torment. For your family’s suffering. For—for taking Fingon from you.”

At his last sentence, Maedhros flinched, and Mairon silently cursed himself for bringing it up. 

“Don’t say his name,” Maedhros growled. He stepped closer, towering over Mairon. “It’s too good for you.”

Mairon bent and touched his lips to the toe of Maedhros’ boot in wordless apology. Maedhros’ breath hitched, and he worried he’d made a further mistake, but the glint in Maedhros’ eyes when he glanced up was not fear.

“Why are you doing this? Why now?”

“Because I was wrong, though it took me too long to figure that out. And because I want to negotiate peace.”

Maedhros snorted. “You’re in no position to negotiate anything. Negotiation implies you have some strength to treat from.”

Mairon closed his eyes and bit down on his lip. He would not let Maedhros goad him into anger. 

“There is something I want of you, though.”

“If it’s within my power—”

“Let’s be clear. This is a trophy I’m taking, not a gift for you to grant.”

“Understood, my lord.”

“Give me one of your braids.”

Mairon didn’t hesitate at the odd demand. The little penknife he’d been using for book repairs was in his pocket. He took it out and sliced a braid neatly off. Before handing it over, he cut a few strands of hair and bound the loose end with them. 

Maedhros accepted it with his left hand and looped it into a tidy coil. It shimmered like firelight as he tucked it away. “I’ll treasure this, a token of the day Gorthaur the Cruel groveled at my feet.” His smirk was menacing. “Now cut off the rest.”

“You want—my lord?”

“You’re not going to deny me anything, are you? You heard me. Cut it all off. As short as you can.”

Shaking slightly, Mairon forced the knife to his head and began to cut. He felt sick. Of course Maedhros would come up with something that hurt worse than any physical blow. He’d learned straight from Mairon. All he could think of as his hair fell to the floor was the sensation of Melkor’s hands running through it, Melkor admiring it, kissing it, combing it, braiding it for him and telling him how beautiful he was. The mass of fiery strands accumulated slowly, lock by lock. It was taking forever, and as his knife dulled, each cut jerked painfully. Maedhros had not once looked away.

Mairon swallowed hard. “My lord…might I borrow your knife? Or be permitted to fetch scissors?” The utter inadequacy of his blade was swiftly becoming unbearable.

“Why would I make this any easier for you?”

Bowing his head, Mairon hacked at his hair in ashamed silence.

“Is that a tear?” Maedhros reached out and wiped it away. “It’s all right if you cry. I’m sure I did, the first time you did this to me.”

And there it was. He could see it, heaps of copper hair everywhere and an elf, bruised, bloodied, curled in on himself as if he could find any protection in his battered arms, hiding and whimpering in a corner. He gathered his courage and met Maedhros’ intense grey eyes. 

“I remember,” he said softly. “You did.” He didn’t complain again or even speak until his head was bare.

Maedhros ran his fingers over the bristly, uneven mess that remained. His touch felt almost tender. “You know I’ll never forgive you, right?”

“I know.”

Taking his chin, Maedhros turned his head back and forth to further inspect his work. “Some people claim revenge is hollow and meaningless. I think they must never have tasted it.” 

*

He huddled under a pile of blankets, sobbing, when Melkor came inside. He snatched at their edge to keep Melkor from pulling them back.

“Please don’t,” he begged. “Don’t look at me.”

Melkor had never been very good at leaving him be, so he was not surprised that his cover was peeled back anyway. 

“My dear little flame.” Melkor sat beside him and pulled him into his lap. “Is this why you’re crying?” He caressed Mairon’s naked head.

Too embarrassed to speak, Mairon nodded.

“So who had their bit of fun at your expense today?”

Mairon grimaced. “Maedhros came by for his apology.”

Melkor stifled a snicker. “I suppose I should just be glad I didn’t have to cut you down from the ceiling.”

“Not funny.”

Melkor kissed his forehead gently. Mairon tried to tug the open front of Melkor’s robe over his head as tears overtook him again.

“It’ll grow back, love.”

“I know. But I’m stuck like this until it does. I already tried to shapeshift it back; I can’t transform my body at all.” He had thought at first he’d leave it out of respect for Maedhros, but he’d lost his resolve almost as quickly as he’d found it. Walking nude through the streets would feel less shamefully revealing. It turned out he had no choice. His voice was small. “I was so happy to be beautiful for you. I wasn’t, for a long time. And now…”

“Oh, Mairon. This body is only clothing. It is beautiful, even with your hair like this, but it isn’t what makes you beautiful to me. I know we’re more tied to our bodies than most, but you mustn’t forget that.” His fingers, stroking Mairon’s scalp, suddenly stilled. “He cut you. You’re bleeding.”

“No. He had me cut it myself. I must have slipped; I didn’t even notice.”

A low snarl rumbled through Melkor.

“Please don’t be angry; I can’t bear it right now.”

Melkor sighed. “My brave little lieutenant. I’m actually so proud of you. I know I haven’t said it before, but I am.”

“I thought you hate what I’m doing.”

“I do. I think it’s stupid and misguided, and it hurts to see you like this, crying and injured and stomped on all the time. But it’s clearly important to you, and you’re fighting so hard and so passionately. I’ve always admired that in you. You stubborn ass.”

Mairon smiled softly into Melkor’s chest. “My lord?”

“Mmm?”

“Show me you still want me?”

Melkor kissed him with rough ferocity and yanked off his clothes. His teeth grazed Mairon's ear and made him moan. Mairon’s neck and ears felt so much more exposed and sensitive without his veil of hair to hide them, and Melkor took full advantage. Their coupling quickly grew frenzied, Mairon clutching his lord and pulling him closer. Melkor shoved him down and claimed him without mercy or quarter.

“You are mine,” he hissed as he came deep inside Mairon. 

“Always,” Mairon gasped.

Mairon lay in Melkor’s arms, shivering with the aftershocks of pleasure. For the first time in many days he felt truly relaxed. His fingertips traced Melkor’s body, not trying to excite again but gently exploring, as if to memorize every plane and curve of the Vala so miraculously returned to him. His hand wandered over Melkor’s thighs, and he paused. The pebbled line of a scab stood out from his skin. And beside it was another. Melkor tensed. 

Pushing back the blanket, Mairon conjured a light. He recognized the haphazard tangle of cuts, some fresh, some turned to white scars. He’d seen similar ones on prisoners left too long alone. On himself, at times.

“My lord, how long have you been doing this?”

“That’s really none of your business.”

“It is my business. I care about you, and I want you to be all right.”

“Wanting it never yet made it so.”

“Surely there’s something I can do.”

Melkor growled and got up.

“Please don’t. I’m sorry, I won’t speak of it. Aren’t you going to sleep with me?” Now that he thought about it, even on the nights Melkor went to bed with him, he was gone when Mairon woke. “Have you been sleeping at all?!”

“Not your business!”

“My lord, please, you have to sleep.”

“Ainur don’t need sleep.”

“But we do. You do.” He pulled on a robe and trailed after Melkor, aching to be near him. “Is it the nightmares? I’ll be with you. I’ll stay up and keep watch if you want. I’m sure we can fix this; maybe…maybe you could talk to Lord Irmo?”

Melkor spun around and backhanded Mairon into the wall. “Shut the fuck up.”

Mairon had rarely suffered the full brunt of Melkor’s fury. He trembled before it now.

“Stop pretending any of this matters to you. I don’t get what’s changed, but I barely recognize you anymore. If you really cared, we wouldn’t be here, waiting on the Valar’s whims, pretty toys for them to smile down at and jerk around. You think I don’t know how this goes? As soon as they get tired of playing, the moment I twitch a way they don’t like, it’s back to Mandos or the Void. Oh, but my little red-headed suck-up will be just fine, so why should you care? I hope you enjoy kissing ass; I’m sure there’s a lot more of it in your future.”

Rubbing his cheek, Mairon pulled himself to his feet. He could already tell it would bruise. “I will follow you into the Void before I let them separate us again.”

“Like you followed me before?”

Mairon’s breath froze in his chest. “I did as you commanded.”

“If you can call it that when you promptly squandered everything you gained. Tell me, if you’ll follow me to the Void, why won’t you follow me now? What kind of lieutenant thinks he knows better than his king? What mockery are you playing at every time you call me master?”

Mairon’s mind went blank. It wasn’t fair. Melkor had to know better; he couldn’t really believe that. Before he could scrounge words together in his defense, Melkor continued.

“You’re right, don’t bother to answer. In fact, get out of my sight. Come find me when you’ve decided where your loyalty lies.” Melkor raised himself to his full height and stood, tall and regal, glowering down at Mairon, daring him to protest. Mairon backed away and fled.

Mairon paced up and down the hall, trying to pull his thoughts into some semblance of order. It was too much. Melkor might relent by morning, but then again, he might not. He’d stayed angry for weeks over lesser slights before. And things between them had been steadily getting worse. He didn’t know how he’d bear Maedhros’ punishment without Melkor’s smile to hold him up. It was too much. Mairon bit his lip. He was sick of crying. Something had to change.

The sound of hammers drew him slowly but surely towards the forge. He stopped outside the doors. Aulë was within, singing, his joy in his work overflowing and filling the air with sparks of power. Mairon remembered his years with Aulë, when the Lamps lit the expanses of Arda. He had wondered at the fierce delight that consumed his mentor at times. He had felt drive, satisfaction at work well-crafted, what he’d thought was contentment, but never that. And then he had seen Melkor, and passion and awe had entered his life. 

He stepped across the threshold but hesitated. He couldn’t end this horrible night by panicking again. _Tyelpë is alive,_ he reminded himself. _Tyelpë is alive, and I don’t even think he hates me._ Just beyond the vast, empty smithy, the world was warm with forgelight and song. Mairon took a deep breath and hurried across to Aulë’s workshop.

“Come inside,” Aulë called when he noticed Mairon lurking in the doorway. He stepped into the light. Aulë laid aside his hammer, his eyes softening with concern as he took in Mairon's state, and reached for his cheek. Mairon winced; it was already swollen and tender. 

“Was this Maedhros or Melkor?”

“You knew he was here?”

“I knew.”

Mairon lowered his eyes. “It was my lord.”

“And did you want that one?”

Reluctantly Mairon shook his head. “Please, don’t…I mean, it was just a quarrel; it was really my fault anyway.”

“Mairon. What can I do to help you?”

Mairon stood in silence. Weariness and sorrow threatened to overwhelm him. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. My life for a very long time has been loss after loss after loss, and now it feels like everything is slipping away from me again, and I can’t handle it anymore.”

Aulë opened his arms. Mairon stepped forward once, and once more, until he could lean forward and let his forehead fall against Aulë’s broad chest. Aulë’s hug was like being wrapped in the forge fires of home, and it soothed away some of his heartache.

“You know, you did promise Nienna some time of service. You need to repay her kindness; Melkor can’t refuse you that.”

“You think she can help me?”

“I think she understands what you’re feeling better than anyone, and she can help you find comfort and a way forward.”

Mairon turned that over but shook his head. “I can’t leave Melkor. He needs me.”

“Melkor can survive without you for a while. He’s not a child to need looking after.”

“Last time I left him alone, he killed the Trees and stole the Silmarils.” He regretted the tasteless joke as soon as it left his mouth, but Aulë laughed. “In all seriousness, though…I’m really worried about him. He isn’t well. He’s suffering more than I knew. I have to take care of him.”

“Are you able to give him the help he needs? I think it’s beyond you. He's going to have to accept the help of others for once. I know you want to be everything for him, but it doesn't work that way. And it’s not good for a relationship when one person does all the taking care and never lets themself be cared for.”

“He does take care of me too.”

“Can he give you what you really need right now?”

“I only just got him back,” Mairon whispered miserably. But he shook his head and sighed. “I think you’re right. Is there any way I could leave tonight? I don’t think I can face him to tell him. It’s best if I go now.”

“I’ll send Nienna word and ready a horse. I’ll do what I can for Melkor; I promise. He’ll still be here; you don’t need to worry.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

*

Mairon peered into the room. Melkor was nowhere to be seen. He slipped inside and wrote a brief letter, leaving it on the desk with the glass pen he’d made.

_My lord Melkor,_  
_It is time I fulfilled a promise I made to Lady Nienna. I’ll be staying with her for a while. I’m not leaving you, but I do need some time and space to figure things out. If you write to me there, I’ll write back. Or I’ll leave you in peace if you prefer. Please wait for me; I will return. I love you more than anything._  
_Your servant,_  
_Mairon_

He was gathering his clothing into a bag when Melkor stepped inside. His entrance brought with it an unearthly cold that seeped into Mairon’s bones. Mairon reached for his cloak and swung it over his shoulders, not speaking. Melkor quickly scanned the letter.

“Please don’t go.”

“I have to, my lord,” Mairon replied softly. “I need her help, and I owe her mine.”

“I command you not to go.”

“Just hours ago, you commanded me away. Do you even know what you want? I’m sorry. I have to do this.”

“Don’t bother coming back, then. You are a bigger disappointment than I could have imagined. I wish I had stayed in the Void.”

Mairon paled and closed his eyes. “My lord, I know you don’t mean that. When those words haunt you in the night, I want you to remember that I’ve already forgotten them.” He hoisted his bag and walked out.


	11. Nienna's House

Mairon rode for days, through rolling hills and dense forests full of massive, gnarled trees. He stopped only to give his horse a chance to graze and rest. Once he would have taken keen interest in the land and its potential, but now all within him was numb. Every time he moved his head, it felt unnaturally light, but thinking about that was better than thinking about…well. He didn’t think about _him_. 

As he drew near his destination, he dared a glance in a still pool near the pathside. He couldn’t tell if his hair had lengthened at all. With the collar around his throat, he looked like any new thrall freshly arrived in Angband. He sighed. They had had much worse things to fear and dread than that first shearing, though he wouldn’t know it by the way some of them cried as their dignity was stripped away. He supposed it was only just that he should experience first-hand some little part of their suffering, as well as Maedhros’, but it was hard to keep that in mind.

Nienna’s House perched on the cliffs overlooking the sea far to the west. It seemed like the end of the world, and maybe it was. Wild and forlorn the house rose from the rocky moors, built of old weathered grey stone, towered and gabled, broken in places like some ancient ruin. It must have been older than any ruins in Middle-Earth, save only the first-hewn caverns of Utumno, and they were long lost to the ocean deeps. 

Somewhere an owl hooted, and Mairon adjusted his hood. He hoped for one last time that he would be as welcome as Nienna had said. Bracing himself, he marched up and banged the heavy iron knocker against the door. It swung open silently. 

Within a vast hall stretched, the vaulted ceiling so high above he could hardly see it by the flickering candles. A few beams of greater light filtered down from panes of colored glass, illuminating the motes of dust floating in the still air. Faint tendrils of incense, rich and spicy and warm, reached his nose. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Mairon realized a lone figure clad in grey stood waiting to greet him. The other peered at him, but took a step back when recognition hit. Mairon sighed.

“Sauron?! Why in the name of all the Valar are you here?”

“I’m here to serve Lady Nienna and to mourn in peace. That’s all I ask.” He fought to keep his voice calm.

“No, but—how’d you get to Valinor? Do the Valar know you’re here?”

There was something familiar about that voice, with its undertones of power and the clear traces of long years of musical training, though now it had gone husky and rough. _Screaming would do that_ , thought Mairon. _Years of screaming overlong…_

“Kanafinwë.” He finally placed it. That voice raised in battle had struck fear into his troops. “Kanafinwë the singer, son of Fëanor. I've heard legends of you.”

“I go by Maglor, and I have for thousands of years. If you know who I am, you should know that. Answer the question, Sauron.”

“My name is Mairon, and I hope, _Maglor,_ you’ll extend me the courtesy of using it.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Mairon gave way. He owed this elf redress like so many others. He would have to be the one to swallow his pride.

“I’m here because Lady Nienna saw fit to grant mercy to me and to my lord. They all know; I had to face their judgment.”

“Wait, so—you mean to tell me Morgoth roams free as well?”

“He’s not your Dark Foe anymore.” _At least I hope not,_ he added to himself. “And we don’t exactly roam free.” He put a hand to his collar, which was starting to feel uncomfortably tight. “I don’t want to struggle anymore, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want…I want a simple life together with my love where no one fears us or hates us, but…I can’t just wave my hand and fix the past, and he…he…” Mairon wrestled against tears. “I thought…here at least…maybe I could…” He trailed off into sobs.

Some part of him scorned his weakness in front of a near stranger, but everything felt too overwhelming all at once for the rest of him to care. He had a sense that he’d been holding himself together by too slim a thread for far too long. He’d let Nienna’s Song fade to a soft hum behind his heartbeat, but here it swelled around him, woven into the fabric of her dwelling, inescapable. It surged, mighty enough to consume him, and he welcomed it.

When he came to himself again, he lay on the cool stone floor, with Maglor’s arms around him and Maglor’s hoarse voice murmuring a tune. 

“Why?” Mairon whispered.

“Because…I believe you. Because time and again I've been given mercy I could never deserve. Because we don’t leave people to cry alone in this house, unless that’s what they want. Is it?”

“No. Please stay.”

Maglor nodded and shifted Mairon to lie more easily against him.

“I’m sorry. For all my part in what you’ve suffered.”

“Apology accepted.”

Those words, so unhesitatingly given, nearly broke him.

“Do your brothers know you’re here?” he asked when he could speak again.

“Maedhros knows. The others…I’m just not ready.” Maglor dug through his pockets. “Oh look, I do have a handkerchief.” He began to dry Mairon’s face. The brush of his fingertips felt so achingly familiar that Mairon flinched. He seized Maglor’s wrist and turned his hand to the light.

“The Silmarils burned you too.”

Maglor jerked back and glared. “Don’t say I’m the same as him.”

“I wasn’t going to. Did you not seek healing when you came here? Surely Estë…”

“I didn’t ask for Estë’s help.” The “I don’t deserve it” that followed was unspoken but hung heavily between them all the same.

“Please, may I take a look?” 

Maglor scowled but didn’t resist as Mairon took his hands, much more gently this time. Maglor’s palms were wrapped in soft bandages which Mairon pulled back carefully to see the full extent, but the charred, blackened skin stretched to his fingertips, flaking to reveal red flesh underneath. 

Mairon looked up, but Maglor wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I have experience treating this type of burn. A great deal, in fact. I can’t heal them,” he added quickly, before the hope in Maglor’s eyes could grow too bright. “But I’ve done extensive experimentation, and I can relieve a lot of the pain and likely restore some function.”

Maglor closed his eyes. “You would do that for me?”

“I’ll start right now if you want.”

Slowly Maglor nodded.

“I’ll need certain herbs, and oils, and…” He sorted through possible recipes. “Is there a place I can work, and can you send for the ingredients? I’ll make a list.”

Maglor’s lips quirked as he stood and pulled Mairon to his feet. “I thought you were here to serve. There’s no one to run and do your bidding; that falls to us. Come on; the apothecary should have all you need.”

The room was well-lit, and its shelves stocked with thousands of dried herbs and tinctures, many of which were unfamiliar to Mairon. He had ceased to study healing after Angband fell, and Aman undoubtedly had plants that never grew in Middle-Earth. He concentrated on finding the ones he did know. Measuring the herbs into a glass beaker, he heated them slowly, infusing them into melting beeswax and sweet almond oil, swirling the concoction and softly chanting. As he reached for the remnants of his power, Mairon remembered Melkor’s lesson over the fungus he’d altered. He mimicked what Melkor had done, repeating his chant in short pieces, weaving it back and forth with small wisps of power, building it course by course until he felt the enchantment take, radiating through his formulation and heightening the effect.

The thrum of his spell drew curious onlookers, one or two at first, followed by more, until a small crowd had gathered. Mairon narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need an audience. Everyone out.” His voice was full of the reflexive authority of one accustomed to instant obedience, and he got it. A single person, robed in grey, remained when the others had fled. 

“That means you, too,” he snapped. 

“Does it?”

Mairon looked up properly this time, right into Nienna’s eyes. “My lady! I’m sorry.”

She smiled at them both. “Carry on. I’m here in case I can be of help.”

Mairon nodded. “Have a seat,” he said to Maglor. Going slowly to save him pain, he unwound Maglor’s bandages and made sure the burns were clean. Maglor was ashen-faced but did not protest.

“This will hurt, but not for long.” Mairon took his hands and stretched them fully open. Skin cracked, and Maglor cursed. Spreading the salve he’d mixed thickly, Mairon began to sing, of rifts closing, pain fading, new growth springing from deep roots. He sang lightly, not trying to push his power through but letting it accumulate bit by bit, a small trickle growing into a wider stream. Maglor’s tense posture eased. The burns appeared less angry already. Compared to his memories of Melkor’s burns, this was a good start. With time and repeated applications, perhaps he’d barely notice them.

He wove his song towards an end, but Nienna stepped forward. Weeping openly she took Mairon’s and Maglor’s hands together in hers. Her tears fell on Maglor’s palms as she added her voice to Mairon’s, not taking over but threading her melody through his in a quiet counterpoint that imbued it with hallowed depths. Mairon faltered and almost jerked away, fearing, in that moment, that her touch would destroy him, but her steady gaze reassured him, and he realized he felt no pain. On they sang together. When at last Mairon looked down, he saw in the center of Maglor’s palms two silvery scars. The burns were healed.

Maglor threw his arms around Mairon, laughing and crying at once. Nienna kissed his forehead.

“That was well done,” she said.

“I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“No. But neither could I.”

She and Maglor shared some quiet words. 

“I think we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” Maglor smiled at him as he left.

Nienna turned back to Mairon and studied him. “You look weary.”

Mairon closed his eyes. “I am.”

“There’s rest to be had here.”

“I don’t know if I can rest. I’m so afraid for Melkor.” Thinking of him set his cruel words resounding in Mairon’s head again, and he almost wished he cared less, enough to walk away and leave Melkor to learn regret. “He hates it here, and he hurt me so much, and I don’t know how to make things right, and…what if I was wrong about him? What if it was a horrible mistake to trust him, and how can I ever face living without him?” He wasn’t sure he’d meant to reveal so much, but he saw no hint of fear or judgment in Nienna. 

“Do you want to hear of him what I hear?”

“I don’t…yes. Please.”

Nienna held his hands and opened her Song to him. The flood of sorrow was dizzying, but Nienna’s firm grip kept Mairon from losing himself in it. He breathed deeply and followed where she led. One thread of music stood out from the rest, dark and lovely and wild and deep, but as Mairon listened closer, he realized how much of it was formed of pain. He echoed it, singing softly, tracing out the notes. Raw terror and aching loss danced around him. Underscoring it all and pounding louder than anything else was longing for a single being of flame and forge. He pulled away, unable to stay and hear more.

“That’s him? That’s what he feels?”

She nodded.

“How could I leave him? I should be there…”

“Mairon. Listen to yourself.” She guided him back into the music. 

Seeing from outside the tangle of anguish that formed his Song was disconcerting. It was broken, missing notes in places where the harmony fell thin, lonely, agonized and unsure, muddied from being tugged in different directions and hurting for it. 

“I want you to think about finding the same compassion for yourself that you feel for your lord. You were right to come. You’re right to be here. Give yourself some time to heal, to rest. He’ll be waiting when you’re ready to go back, and you’ll be better for it.”

Mairon nodded slowly. “All right. I trust you.”

“I don’t think your trust in him is misplaced, for what it’s worth.”

Mairon didn’t want to say it, but he felt compelled. “You were wrong to trust him before.”

“Was I? Do you think keeping him in Mandos, in pain, for even longer would have helped anyone?”

“No…I don’t know. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I have never yet regretted trusting someone to do the right thing.”

“But so often they don’t.” He thought of Tyelpë, who had trusted him completely and been so brutally disillusioned.

“I’d rather let them make that choice than try to force what cannot be forced. And so often, they come through when you least expect.”

Mairon pondered this.

“I’ve asked Maglor to find you a room and show you around.”

“Wait…before you go…what can I do? I want to serve you, not just be tended to.”

Nienna smiled. “You’ve made a good beginning already. No one here has assigned duties; all are like you, grieving something and seeking peace. My rule is that if you see something that needs to be done, and you have the strength and knowledge to do it, you should. Take your time to rest. Find something that will ease your fellows. And the most important thing, always, is to care for those around you. Listen to those who are hurting. Give your support where you can. Don’t be afraid to lean on them in turn. If I can show you but one thing, it is that comfort is found in each other.”

Mairon doubted anyone would find comfort in his presence, but he bowed his head in acceptance.


	12. Shadows

Mairon didn’t get out of bed the next day. Now that he was here, now that the effort he’d spent on his journey was done, he had nothing left. He didn’t think he could have forced himself up for anything. He drifted in and out of a blessedly dreamless sleep until he could sleep no more; then he lay on his side and stared out the window. The day was cloudy, and the light was gentle on his eyes. A pair of falcons swooped and gamboled high above the moors. Their dance-like movement reminded Mairon of tiny dragonets tasting the joy of the upper airs. How Melkor’s eyes had lit up watching them learn to leap and soar! The dragonets had loved to drape themselves over his and Melkor’s shoulders and ride about, purring and nuzzling for attention. He missed their scaly noses pressed beneath his ears and their eyes glimmering like mischievous jewels in the dark. Ancalagon had been especially clingy as a baby. He thought of their excitement the day she had hatched. Of the despair that had seized his lord, written like doom on his features, when she fell.

 _Void damn it._ Mairon buried his face in his pillow and pulled the blankets over his head. He wasn’t going to spend all his time dwelling on Melkor. He wasn’t. But his thoughts defied him and kept circling back around. Melkor had been giddy with delight when they’d finally succeeded at breeding dragons with wings. They’d spoken of the day they’d climb on a dragon’s back and take flight together, in hushed tones late at night. It had always seemed unfair to Mairon that he could change shape and fly while Melkor could not. Melkor had wanted it so badly. And then…Melkor had dueled Fingolfin and been injured so severely he’d never left Angband again. Mairon hadn’t even been there to take care of him. After that there’d been no more talk of flight. No more excitement, only grim resolve to win the war, whatever the cost. Was it wrong, Mairon wondered bleakly, to wish they could go back and have that longed-for moment of bliss on dragonwing?

A knock on the door interrupted him. He didn’t answer, but the door cracked open anyway. Maglor peered inside. 

“Hey.”

“Go away.”

“I would, but I'm under orders to show you the place.”

“I don't think Nienna gives orders.”

“All right, you got me. Look, I know how tempting it is to lay down and not get up again, believe me, but I promise you’ll feel better if you come do something else for a bit.”

“Maybe that works for elves.”

“I doubt Maiar are very different in that respect.”

Mairon sighed. “If I go along with this, will you leave me alone afterwards?”

“Sure.”

“Fine.”

Maglor waited outside while Mairon pulled on rumpled clothes. He raised his hands to comb his fingers through his hair and bit back a tiny frustrated cry when they met nothing. At least no one had commented on it last night, and none of those who nodded greetings in the halls commented either. The part of the house that held sleeping chambers, storerooms, and kitchens was friendly and lit by many windows that opened onto peaceful gardens, but as they left it they passed into shadows. The great vaulted nave where Mairon had entered was surrounded by labyrinthine passages and colonnades leading to myriad little nooks and hideaways. Banks of burning candles illuminated many of them, and some had been turned into shrines by visitors over the years who left behind jewels or locks of hair from loved ones, drawings or embroidery, a special blade or a favorite poem. Incense filled the air with clouds of sweet smoke.

Mairon only half listened to Maglor’s rambling narration. The darkness full of memories and sadness felt like coming home. He hadn’t realized how shallow and tight his breaths had become until he found himself drawing in deep lungfuls of air like he’d spent weeks underwater. They rounded another corner, and Mairon froze. Hundreds of skulls stared at him from niches covering the walls. He’d built similar tableaus to celebrate his victories, but he’d never expected to see such a thing here. A golden plaque near eye level proclaimed “THE GLORIOUS WARRIORS WHO FELL IN THE WAR OF WRATH. MAY THEIR VALOR LIVE FOREVER.” A long list of names followed. Mairon’s eyes flitted from skull to skull, noting signs of head wounds, wondering how many he had killed himself in those last hours of desperate futility.

He felt a hand on his arm. “Are you all right? We don’t have to stay,” Maglor said, unnecessarily loudly. Or perhaps not. He looked like he might have repeated himself a few times.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

They ended up sitting together where the last evening light shone softly through the stained glass in reds and blues, listening to a few elves who had gathered to sing.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it? All of this.”

Mairon just nodded.

“There’s a stone panel somewhere that shows my father and all seven of us swearing that accursed oath. I think it must be Ammë’s work. I don’t even walk by it if I can help it.”

“I’ve seen some of your brothers since I came to Aman.”

“How were they?”

“Alive and very angry with me. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.” Mairon leaned back against the cool stones. “If you don’t mind talking about it…I know the words of your Oath by heart; don’t ask me how. I wondered…how is it any of them are here? Taking the two Silmarils wouldn’t have sufficed, not with the third out of your reach forever. I wouldn’t have thought Námo would ever feel pity.”

“Ah. That’s an interesting story.” Maglor’s smile grew sharp. “I can’t have this too widely known, or I’d have made it into a song already. There’d be trouble if it got out.”

“I’ll keep your secrets.”

Maglor settled in. “It begins when Maedhros and I took two frightened boys from the wreckage of our massacre at Sirion.” He sighed. “I’d like better to tell this with a harp in hand. Nienna found one for me, but it doesn’t want to stay in tune; I think I’ll have to take the pins out and…Sorry, I’ll go on. So. Two frightened boys. They were Elrond and Elros, and somehow they became sons to us. 

“After we were parted, at the end of the War, Elrond developed a habit of speaking to his father, Eärendil, whenever his ship was overhead bearing the Star. He would talk, not knowing if he could hear, about his day, his worries, his joys, his thoughts. And unfailingly, every time, he would end with ‘And please have mercy on Maedhros and Maglor, for I love them too.’ One night, Eärendil must have answered. I come into the story here. I was walking on the beach, singing my laments, when the ship Vingilot sailed down into the water. Elrond came from the woods and met us there, embracing us both and spreading out a picnic. 

“ ‘Adar, Ada,’ he began, ‘we’re going to fix this problem of the Oath. I’ve worked it all out. Adar, you’ll give Maglor the Silmaril. Unconditionally, that’s important.’

“ ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘I have no desire to take a star from the sky or ever touch one of those wretched stones again.’

“ ‘Who said anything about that?’ Elrond has the most infuriatingly cryptic smile, and he showed it then. ‘Ada, as the last surviving heir of Fëanor and thus head of his house, you’ll appoint Eärendil your steward. Then you’ll return the Silmaril and command him to carry it through the skies, just as he has. Oath fulfilled, Star preserved, everyone happy, no one consigned to everlasting darkness. Simple, really.’ He looked very proud of himself.

“Eärendil spoke then, and said, ‘This is for the Valar to decide, not us.’

" ‘I don't see why; it’s just a little family matter. There’s no reason to involve them at all.’

" 'And if he doesn’t give it back? What’s to stop him from taking it and running off, never to be seen again?’

“ ‘Nothing,’ Elrond answered. ‘You’ll have to trust him, as I do. As he will have to trust you, to defend that jewel against any who would take it, even a Vala.’

“ ‘And you would have me do this, though he slaughtered our people without mercy?’

“ ‘He is my adar too, and if I can save him and his family, I will. It is the only thing I will ask of you. Do this for my sake, I beg you.’

“Eärendil said no more, but he took the circlet from his head and handed it to me. I accepted his fealty then and set the Silmaril again on his brow, charging him to bear it in my name until the end of days. In that moment I felt the Oath close its greedy maw, and my spirit knew a peace I had not felt since long ago in Aman when the Trees still lived. And so with hope in our hearts we said farewell and parted ways, and telling no one my true name, I sailed from the Havens.”

Mairon sat lost in thought, marveling. “And your brothers—they were released from Mandos when the Oath was fulfilled?”

“Mmhmm. Without that they would have waited until my death, when we all would be fully forsworn, and then--the Void. Elrond did save us.” Maglor bowed his head. “All but my father. On him Námo’s Doom yet rests, and he is fated to remain there until the final battle is fought and the world made new. So Maedhros told me when I saw him.”

Tears crept down Maglor’s cheeks. Hesitantly Mairon reached out and put an arm around him, feeling awkward.

Maglor laid his head on Mairon’s shoulder and wept. “I was so angry at him for so long after what he put us through. I thought I’d never want to see him again. But now…I just miss my Ada.”

*

Dawn brought with it a chill that Mairon's blanket could not withstand. He looked around for another, shivering. Perhaps, he thought, he'd do better to light a fire and warm the whole room. Old ash clogged the hearth, caked where water had run down the chimney, and there was no wood to hand. Mairon's shoulders slumped in defeat. He would have had someone whipped for such neglect once. What was it Maglor had said? _“There’s no one to do your bidding; that falls to us.”_ Mairon sighed, pulled on his warmest robe, and went to find brushes and a pail.

It was work for servants or slaves, and Mairon resented every moment he spent scraping out cinders and ashes and sweeping soot from the chimney. By the time he'd found the courtyard where firewood was stacked and carried in several armloads, he felt a bit more awake. As he emptied his last bucket of ashes onto the rubbish pile, he noticed a hunched elf struggling to move some firewood himself. His eyes were reddened as if he'd spent the night crying.

“Can I…get that for you?” Mairon asked. The ellon's obvious sleeplessness reminded him too much of Melkor; Mairon couldn't leave him to his pain.

“Would you?” he whispered.

Mairon took the wood from him and added some more. “Show me where we’re going.”

The elf’s fireplace was in as bad shape as his own had been. Mairon set down the wood and started to shovel out the ash. He didn’t leave until a cheerful fire blazed. The depths of gratitude in the elf’s eyes warmed him even more than the flame. Wondering how many others were waking from a night of unbearable sorrow to face a cold, unwelcome morning, Mairon decided to keep going, though each door he knocked at brought with it a fresh rush of humiliation as he asked elf after elf if they wanted their hearth cleaned. _Slave’s work,_ his mind kept insisting. _Beneath me._ But Nienna had not said, “Find some work that fits your station,” but “Do what will help others.” And everyone he spoke to made clear how much they appreciated what he did.

“Are you carrying firewood to every single room?” an elleth with golden hair pulled back in a single no-nonsense braid asked him as he crossed the courtyard for what seemed the hundredth time.

“Umm…yes?”

“That’s such a good idea! I’ll help. How far have you gotten?”

The task went much faster then, as his companion turned it into a competition and handily outpaced him. She insisted on making tea for him afterwards, and they rested in the kitchen sipping from steaming mugs.

“You should join our singing tonight,” she said. “It’s always nice to have a new voice.”

Mairon looked at her. “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Sauron; word has gotten around. Or…I would have known you as the Necromancer when I lived in Middle-Earth. I forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I? I’m Malliriel. Ahh…is that what you prefer to be called?”

“It’s Mairon, actually.”

“I thought ‘Sauron’ sounded a bit harsh. I’ll make sure people know what to call you. Really, though, come and sing.”

“I won’t…make people uncomfortable?”

“Maybe some, but they’ll be polite about it.”

“I’ll…maybe.”

“So…you recently came from Middle-Earth, right?”

Mairon nodded.

“I know this is a long stretch, but…would you have any idea how King Thranduil’s realm in Mirkwood fares?”

His memory of events right before his fall was hazy and overwritten with his obsession with his ring, but he struggled to recall what he could. “He fought a hard battle against my troops and triumphed at the end, but I could not say what he lost in doing so.”

She nodded as if that’s what she’d expected. “No word of an elf named Daewen? She was a mighty archer…”

“No. I’m sorry.”

She sniffled. “It’s just…she was my wife, before I was killed fighting off an orc raid, and…I don’t know if she lives, or if she’ll ever choose to sail. I miss her so much…” She wiped her eyes, glancing at him and then away. “Is there someone you miss too?”

Mairon couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. He nodded. She held out her hand, and he took it. They sat together in silence while their tea grew cold.

He found Malliriel and Maglor with several others that evening. Maglor seemed to have gotten his harp working; its strings pealed like bells with round golden tones as he plucked them, and he looked deeply content. Mairon stayed on the outskirts of their circle and listened at first, but as they moved from one song to another, he joined softly on the choruses.

Mairon’s days settled into a routine. He tended the fires: chopped and carried wood, swept hearths, scraped the melted remnants of candles from their holders and heated fragrant cakes of beeswax to pour new ones. He mixed resins and spices for incense, and if anyone noted the faintly sulfurous hint of coal smoke in his blends, they didn’t complain. Sometimes he sang, and sometimes he looked for solitude in the quiet shadows. Often he returned to sit on the floor in the shrine of skulls, drawn back again like a tongue to a split lip, and tried to sort through his thoughts.

He was there late one evening when he felt a tiny form worm its way under his arm and press up against him. He looked down at a small child with long silver hair.

“You’re so warm,” she said.

“Are you cold, little one?”

At her nod, he took off his outer robe and wrapped it around her. “Where are your parents? Aren’t they here with you?”

“Don’t have any.”

“Who’s taking care of you? We’ll go find them.”

“ ‘M all alone,” she said, looking up at him with blue eyes. “You’ll take care of me, won’t you? You look nice.”

“Of course I will.” Mairon began to worry. He had no idea what to do with a child. Maybe someone else would take her in. “I’m Mairon; what’s your name?”

Her eyes grew wide and her lip trembled. “I don’t remember.”

*

“Maglor? Maglor, help!” Mairon pounded on Maglor's door with the child perched on his hip. 

Maglor opened it and blearily stared. “Do you have any idea how late it is?”

“I need help! She's hungry, and everyone's asleep, and I don't know what to feed a baby elf!”

Maglor rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing with a kid?”

“She just showed up out of nowhere. She doesn't have anyone to look after her.”

“Right. Well, it appears she’s already asleep; why don't you put her in bed, and we’ll get her some breakfast in the morning.”

“No, hungry now,” she whined, raising her head. 

Mairon looked at Maglor and shrugged.

“All right, all right. I think I saw some cocoa in the kitchen; how does hot chocolate sound?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

They sat at the kitchen table while Maglor heated milk, sliced fresh bread, and spread it with soft cheese. 

“Can I have some hot chocolate too?” Mairon asked once the little girl was busily attacking her bread. Maglor sighed and plunked a second mug down in front of him. Maglor's concoction was frothy and honey-sweet, nothing like the dark and bitter brew full of hot spices he'd come to love among the Haradrim, but Mairon decided he liked it.

“Hey, sweetie,” Maglor said when she seemed to be slowing down. “Can you tell me where you were before you found Mairon here?” 

She screwed up her face in concentration. “Somewhere dark. I don't think I liked it there.”

“Do you know how you got here?”

She shook her head.

“Don't worry her so; it is late,” Mairon said. “I'll take her to Nienna tomorrow.”

Maglor nodded. “You’re right. We’ll sort it out then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ammë = mother 
> 
> Adar/Ada = father 
> 
> elleth/ellon = elf woman/elf man


	13. Unfairness

The child flatly refused to climb into bed alone, so Mairon abandoned his plan to sleep on the floor and curled up beside her. He put up with her squirming and kicking for several minutes. 

“Aren’t you sleepy?” he asked.

“Don't wanna sleep.” She rolled over, taking most of the covers with her. “Tell me a story.” 

“A story, hmm?” He racked his mind for something appropriate. Orc tales were unfailingly grisly, and the punchline was generally death. That wouldn’t do. However, he had sat around enough campfires with humans to know how to shape a story like theirs. And they had held their children on their knees while they told them. “Once upon a time, there were two princes. A dark prince and a bright one. They lived together in a castle made of iron, with ice above and fire below, and they loved each other with all their hearts.

“The dark prince had three beautiful jewels that shone like stars, and he wore them always in his crown. But the princes had many enemies who coveted the jewels and longed to take them for themselves. One day it befell that the dark prince spoke to the bright prince and said, ‘My own heart, you must go forth and build me a tower to guard our kingdom, so that our enemies may never reach us.’

“At this the bright prince was grieved, for he had no desire to leave his beloved’s side. But he knew he must do as he was bid to keep their kingdom safe, so he rode out and raised a tall tower in the mountain gap, and there he stayed.

“Now, a powerful witch heard tell of the wondrous jewels, and she decided she would make them hers. She came one day to the tower, and with her was the most fearsome hound who ever lived. She pounded on the gates and demanded the bright prince let her pass. But when he descended to bid her leave, she set her hound upon him. He took the form of a beautiful golden wolf, and he strove mightily against the hound, and long they fought. But the hound was cunning and his teeth were sharp, and he overcame the wolf and held him down with his fangs in his throat.

“Then the witch tore stone from stone and cast down the tower, and she took her hound and left the prince to die. Though he was sorely wounded, he limped home to his love. But he found he was too late. The witch had gone before him and sung a deep, enchanted sleep over the castle. The bright prince rushed to where the dark prince lay, and he woke him with true love’s kiss. But the witch had stolen away the jewels, and they lived in sorrow ever after.”

“No! It can’t end like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because they ought to be happy at the end. They didn’t have the jewels, but they still loved each other, didn’t they?”

“Well, the dark prince was very angry, because the bright prince had promised to keep him safe, and he broke his promise.”

She pouted. “That’s not fair. It wasn’t the bright prince’s fault the mean hound won!” 

Mairon smiled sadly. “I’m sorry. It isn’t a very nice story, is it? Maybe they’ll be happy again one day.”

“Hmmph. They better.” She seemed to be pondering. “I have a story too.” 

“You want to tell me?”

“Once upon a time,” she echoed, “there was a little princess, and she lived in a golden wood full of golden trees. Her mother told her she must never step out of the wood, because there were terrible monsters waiting to get her. But one day she was playing, and she looked across the stream, and she thought there must be strange and wonderful treasures on the other side. So she crossed the stream and left the wood where she was safe, and goblins came and carried her away.” Her voice quavered.

“Is that the end?” Mairon asked softly. He could see her shaky nod by the firelight. “I'll keep you safe tonight, all right? I won't let goblins or any kind of monsters come near.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She relaxed into the warmth of his arms, and soon her breath slowed and evened out. As soon as he was sure she slept soundly, Mairon turned away. He was thinking of the parts of his story he hadn’t told--the wolves sent into the dark, the screams of elves being consumed alive one by one. He remembered their undiluted terror. Their steadfastness even as they died. 

He wept as silently as he could for Finrod and his followers and wondered why he was here at all. If anyone belonged in the Void, it was him. He didn't deserve the kindness people kept showing him. He didn't deserve to be trusted with the life of a child, even for a night. It was a cruel joke of fate that had him soothe her fears of monsters; he was the worst monster of all.

Mairon woke to a still-damp pillow and the child snuggled tightly against his back, her small arm clutching his side. He didn't move until he felt her stir. In the morning light, she appeared several years older than he had first guessed. Mairon was surprised he’d carried her with such ease; she must be severely underfed. That was simple enough to fix, at least.

After breakfast, he led her up the spiral stairs to Nienna’s tower room. They were only halfway up when she sat. 

“It’s too many stairs. I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can. Rest a minute and come along. It’s not much farther.”

She scowled and crossed her arms. “Can’t and I won’t!”

Mairon considered. Arguing didn’t seem worth the effort. “Shall I carry you, then?”

She held up her arms. Mairon frowned as he lifted her. His size estimates were near perfect; he couldn’t be this far off. 

“I’m not making you walk; I’m just going to put you down for a second, okay? I want to see how tall you are.”

“Okay.” He set her on her feet. _Definitely shorter than earlier. Strange._ He took the stairs faster, despite her weight in his arms. 

Nienna was sitting by the window, knitting something in soft silvers and blues as she looked out over the western sea. At Mairon’s approach, she dried her eyes and turned to greet them. “Who have we here?” She reached for the child while Mairon explained.

“Give us a moment, please.”

Mairon crossed the room and leaned against the mantel while Nienna gently questioned her. He found himself looking for rings to turn on his fingers and shoved his hands in his pockets. The girl’s clear laugh eased him. She hopped down from Nienna’s lap and ran over to pet the cat lying on the hearth. Nienna resumed her knitting as Mairon joined her. 

“So where is she from? What do we do? She’s been changing size all morning; unless she’s part Maia I don’t think that’s good.”

“It isn’t, I’m afraid. She’s newly come from Mandos, and her fëa is having difficulty holding on to her new body. A fëa being reborn tends to shape its hröa in the last form where it felt whole and well. Usually that works out as it should, but in some cases, especially if they’ve experienced overwhelming trauma, they can have a hard time remembering what it was to be secure in their body at all. She’s struggling to find her shape, and her body keeps shifting as her fëa flickers in strength.”

“What will happen to her?”

“If she can remember who she is, her body will stabilize, and she’ll be all right. If not…she will fade and return to Mandos’ Halls.”

“Why would that sadist Námo send her back if she’s only going to die again?!” The growl in his voice surprised him, and he flinched, expecting reproof.

“It’s all right to be angry, dear one.”

The acceptance in her gaze encouraged him. “It’s so unfair. Unfair for her to have to face Mandos in the first place. Unfair for this to happen to her now.”

“It is unfair, but there isn’t any other way. There are hurts of the fëa that cannot heal while it is houseless. Námo wouldn’t have sent her if he thought she’d be any better waiting longer in his halls. She’s caught in a terrible paradox; she can’t recall herself without her body, but she can’t inhabit her body fully until she does.”

Mairon looked over at the child, who had coaxed the cat into her lap and was teasing it with a stray piece of yarn. “You think she suffered some terrible hurt that made her not want to be embodied anymore? Not want to be herself?” He could picture exactly what sort of torment might accomplish that.

“I think it likely. Will you continue to care for her? I believe you are uniquely situated to be of help.”

Mairon stared at her, taken aback. “You’re not—you…Just because I know how to take someone apart doesn’t mean I can put them back together!”

“Oh, I'm sorry. That’s not what I meant.” She took his hands in hers. “It's that she was drawn to you, not to any other. She must have felt some connection, some trace of memory, and if you can uncover that, you can give her back her name.”

“That comes to the same thing in the end. There’s no way she could have any good memories of me.” He pulled away and stood by the window, his back to Nienna. “I don’t know why she’d recognize me at all. I didn’t torture children. There wasn’t any point. They just got fed to whatever was nearest and hungry. She wouldn’t have seen me up close, and remembering whatever she might would only hurt her more anyway.”

“That is possible. I’ll ask someone else to look after her, if that’s your wish.”

“Do you truly think she’ll fade without me?”

“I can’t see all that will come to pass. I do think you’re her best hope.”

Mairon turned back. “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything I can to save her from suffering more. But—if…” _Maybe she knew me from the good days in Ost-in-Edhil; I met children there._ The thought steadied him. “I’ll never forgive myself if I make it worse.” 

“You won’t be alone; you’ll have my support and that of everyone here.”

“I hope that’ll be enough.”

*

“I want to knit like Nienna does. Show me how?” They were barely down the stairs.

“Why don’t I show you how to embroider instead?” Mairon suggested. “You can make all sorts of pictures with your thread. I’ll find you a bit of gold, and you can stitch your golden forest.”

“No, I want to knit. Like Nienna.”

Mairon sighed. Knitting hadn’t existed when he had studied and labored under Aulë. It had come much later, from human hands. He’d never bothered to pick it up. “I don’t know how. We’ll have to ask Nienna to show you.” It rankled to admit there was any craft he hadn’t mastered.

The child must have seen his frustration, for she took his hand. “It’s okay. You can teach me to embroider next time.”

Malliriel was in the kitchen baking bread when Mairon went to make the child lunch. _“Three meals a day, and ask her between if she’s hungry, she might want a snack too,”_ Maglor had said. It seemed excessive to Mairon, but he only ate occasionally for the pleasure of it, so he had no basis to judge. He vaguely remembered Celebrimbor’s apprentices tracking him down with a plate in the middle of the night and insisting he’d skipped too many meals. Maybe he wasn’t the best example either. Malliriel nudged him aside and prepared a plate of fruit and scones. 

“Nienna is making the most beautiful scarf,” the child said through a mouthful of strawberries. “It looks just like the waves in the ocean. I’m gonna learn to knit too.”

“Ohh! Do you want help? I used to knit all sorts of things. It was nice to have something to work on at night when I was on watch. Do you have some yarn?”

Mairon left the two ensconced for a while with needles and wool, and made his round of chores. 

*

Mairon took the child with him to listen to the evening’s music. A couple of flutes led with Maglor’s harp as accompaniment. Her attention wavered and soon turned to him.

“Why is your hair so short?” she asked, patting it. 

He took her hands gently and lowered them. “We don’t touch other people’s hair without asking first.”

“Sorry. Can I touch it? Why is it short? No one else has hair like that.”

“Yes, you can touch, I don’t mind now that you’ve asked. It’s short because I cut it off.”

“Will you cut mine off too? Please? It’s so fuzzy! I want fuzzy hair like yours. It’s so pretty.”

Mairon was quietly stunned. “No. No, I can’t cut yours; it wouldn’t…elves don’t wear their hair short. Everyone would be mad at me. You’d probably be mad at me the next day.”

“I wouldn’t be mad. Promise!”

“I would be in really big trouble.”

She huffed but seemed to accept that. “Aren’t you an elf, then? If elves can’t have short hair?”

“No, I’m a Maia. A little bit like Nienna, but not as wise.”

She nodded as if that made perfect sense.

“I could braid your hair and make it pretty. I can make it look like your hair is short, and you’re wearing a crown of braids.”

“All right. Tomorrow.” She yawned and laid her head against his chest. 

Maglor came and sat beside him after a while as other musicians joined the group and played on. “How is she?”

“Fast asleep. It must have been a long day for one so small.” Mairon cradled her head, thinking how fragile and precious she was. “Nienna says she’ll fade if she can’t remember her name. I’m not going to let that happen.”

At the ferocity of his words, Maglor met his gaze. “I’ll help you however I can. We all want her to be well.”

Mairon nodded. “She told me a little story. I thought it might be a dream or part of a memory. About a girl who lived in a golden wood and was taken by orcs. Surely...that would be Lothlórien?"

“Could be, but I wouldn't assume it. A child might call any wood ‘golden’ in contrast to what came after.”

“Perhaps.”

The music took a solemn turn. In the stillness and the shadows, his earlier thoughts weighed upon him. “Maglor?”

“Hmm?” He’d begun his own soft tune, plucking golden notes on his harp. It sounded like a lullaby. 

“Do you ever think about all the people you’ve killed?”

“Often.”

“How do you go on? How do you justify your existence in the face of all the pain you’ve caused?”

“One of those days, is it?” Maglor laughed grimly. “I’ll let you know when I figure out the answer.” He struck a few mournful chords. “No, that’s not quite how it went…” He tried again with a slightly different rhythm. “Actually? I do have thoughts. I know what Nienna would say—that no punishment or suffering you could endure will remove the pain of others from the past. But you can choose every day to make the future kinder. If you keep getting up and doing kind things. And I believe that. But also—I don’t think you have to justify your existence to anyone. It’s yours; you deserve to exist simply because you do. And if you don’t like what your existence has been—make it something better. You have the rest of forever for that.”

Mairon closed his eyes and wondered if Finrod would agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nienna totally knitted Gandalf's scarf for him as a going-away present.


	14. Ghosts

“Mairon? Mairon! MAIROOON!!” The child shook and wailed. 

“What’s wrong?!” Mairon snapped into alertness and leapt to his feet before he realized that wasn’t what was needed. 

“Mairon!” The child reached for him, and he gathered her into his arms. “The scary man was there. He's trying to get me!”

“No one’s going to get you. I won’t let them.” He stroked her silver hair as she burrowed her face into his shirt.

“But he wants to hurt me,” she whimpered. “His eyes are like fire; it’s awful.”

Mairon’s blood ran cold. _That can’t be me. I would remember her. Surely I would remember._ “Hey, look at me.”

She rubbed her face on her sleeve.

“He can’t hurt you. You’ve got Nienna, and me, and Maglor, and everyone here watching out for you. He’d have to fight every last one of us, and we would flatten him and send him running. All right?”

She nodded hesitantly and then with more conviction. “All right.”

“Do you think you can go back to sleep? I can build up the fire or get you some water.”

“Make the fire big and sing to me?”

He cradled her in his arms when he came back to bed and slipped a tiny breath of power into his song to speed her to rest. She didn’t speak of her nightmare in the morning, but she seemed quieter and more subdued. She sat on the hearth and worked at her knitting while Mairon helped wash the breakfast dishes. When he rejoined her, she was on the verge of angry tears, staring daggers at her stitches.

“I hate this. I hate it!” She hurled her needles as far as she could. Her yarn rolled across the floor. Mairon retrieved it, winding her red wool back onto the ball and bundling up her bit of completed fabric. He sat crosslegged on the floor in front of her, thinking. What would Aulë or Celebrimbor say to so young a pupil? He tipped her chin up. She glared.

“That’s not how we treat our tools. There’s lots of other things you can hit or throw if you need to, but we don’t throw tools and we don’t throw our projects.”

“It’s all messed up and it looks stupid.”

“I’ll fix it for you.” He held up the scrunched fabric and inspected its structure.

“Thought you couldn’t knit.”

“Mmm. I figure things out fast.” The yarn looped through itself in a series of columns and rows. Simple and rather elegantly mathematical. He could see a lot of potential for interesting patterns, if one didn’t mind the fluffy, soft nature of the stuff. The child had dropped some loops from her needles, allowing the columns they headed to collapse. Mairon chained the stitches back up the ladders of loose yarn and handed it to her. “There. All better.”

She studied it dubiously. “I don’t like this.”

“What? Knitting?”

She shook her head. “I ought to know how. I feel like I did know. Or my hands know. But then I think about it too hard, and everything’s gone.”

“Don’t think so hard, then.”

She scowled and kicked at his foot, but without any real force.

“Come on, let’s do something else for a while. We should make you a toy. Don’t elflings like toys?”

She half snorted, half giggled. “Elflings do like toys. Can I have a sword?”

“Hmm.” Nienna had no forge, but the huge kitchen hearth held a sturdy set of bellows. And a toy sword wouldn't require careful grinding or a tempered edge. “Let’s see what we can find to make one from.”

A rusted, broken gate that had been tossed on the scrap heap yielded a bar of iron, and Mairon improvised an anvil from a smooth, flat stone. The child pumped the bellows to keep the fire roaring and watched in fascination while he hammered the iron into shape and wrapped the hilt with leather. The little sword was crude by his standards, but well enough balanced and just the right size. She wielded it with fierce delight around the garden. Mairon thought she looked taller.

Maglor wandered up and stood beside Mairon, watching. “Why does the kid have a sword?” he asked at last. 

“She asked for one.”

“She’s too young. She’ll hurt herself.”

“I would not give her an edged blade, Maglor. It’s a perfectly reasonable practice sword. Besides, I know you started them that young in Beleriand.”

“We were at war then. She should never have to know such things.”

“Peace means we don’t have to force her to learn quickly, not that she shouldn’t get to learn at all. She dreams of darker times; perhaps feeling strong will give her comfort.”

Maglor didn’t answer, but after a moment he went over and corrected her stance and grip.

*

“Can I have two toys?” the child asked as Mairon tucked her into bed.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Make me an animal I can hold while I sleep?”

“Sure. What kind of animal do you want?”

“A golden wolf like in the story.”

Mairon hesitated, too aware of how it might look, the former lord of werewolves luring her in. But no one had questioned his choices so far, and it was only a toy… “All right, I’ll make it. But you have to be quiet and go to sleep right away.”

He hadn’t imagined her smile could fill him with so much happiness.

*

Mairon pulled the burned-out stub of a candle from its holder and held out his hand for a new one. The warm smell of honey clung to his fingers from the wax. No candle appeared. He looked around. The child, who had been following him with a basket of new tapers, had abandoned her task and wandered off, but she was still within sight. Mairon shook his head and let her be, glancing up often to make sure she didn’t go too far. When he finished with the candles, he went over to where she sat playing. Two boys with matching dark hair and uncommonly beautiful features had joined her. Several cups left from the night before had been set out in a circle. As he drew nearer, Mairon narrowed his eyes. The newcomers had the shimmer of houseless spirits about them, though they projected a solider image than most.

“Hey, sweetie? Who’re your friends there?”

She looked up at him, tilting her head. “They’re just pretend. You could play tea party with me instead.”

He sat behind her where he could keep both spirits in his field of vision without looking at them directly. “Why don’t you tell me about them? Have your imaginary friends been having conversations?”

“Oh! Yes, they’ve been telling me all their adventures on the way to my tea party. They had to go such a long way, through forests and over the ocean, and there were giant spiders, and a terrible red-headed elf chasing them, and—”

 _So she can hear them?_ Wandering spirits could pose a threat to any elf or human, but with the child’s weak hold on her body, she was especially vulnerable to any who might try to take it. 

“Sweetie, I want you to look.” Mairon laid a hand on her shoulder and sang, guiding her to see what he saw. If she had any capacity for foresight, she should be capable of this as well.

“They’re twins!” she exclaimed. “They seem…I think…I must have known some twins like them before…Wait, they’re real?”

“See how they’re there-but-not-quite?”

She nodded, delighted.

“They’re houseless spirits. Ghosts. They’ll hurt you if they get a chance; you have to stay away.”

He looked straight at the dead twins now, glaring. They glanced at each other and back at him, then quietly disappeared. 

“Wait! Don’t go!”

“They have to. You can’t play with them. They’re dangerous.”

“They aren’t! They’re my friends!”

She got up to follow after them, but Mairon caught her arm. “I said no. You can’t always trust people just because they seem friendly. You’re not to speak to them again.”

“Let me go!”

“Come on.” He pulled her the other direction.

“No!” She squirmed to get away and hit his arm.

“Stop it. We’re going.”

“No! You’re not my Ada! You can’t tell me what to do!” Her voice rose to screams, and she let her feet go out from under her.

Mairon cursed silently. At this rate, he’d leave bruises on her arm, if he hadn’t already. He picked her up instead, but she went limp and sobbed.

“No, put me down, let me go, please!”

Mairon shuddered and released her immediately. He couldn’t bear to listen to her plead. In that moment, she sounded entirely too much like Tyelpë. Trembling violently, he sank to the floor beside her and hid his face in his arms. Tyelpë’s voice resounded in his ears. _“Annatar, please! Let me go, don’t do this!”_

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’msorryimsorryimsorry!”

He jumped and gasped when he felt a soft touch. The child stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. It took a moment to remember where he was. He forced a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I made you cry.”

“Are you okay?”

Mairon thought about it and slowly shook his head.

“D’you want a hug?”

He was fairly sure he should be comforting her instead, but he nodded and opened his arms. She climbed into them, and they held each other for a long time. He considered as his heartbeat slowed and his shoulders relaxed.

“Will you make a deal with me?” he asked softly.

“What?”

He dried her face and pushed back her tangled hair. “You can play with the ghosts if you promise you’ll only do it when I’m right there. I just want to keep you safe.”

“I come get you when I see them and then it’s okay?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay. I promise.”

*

He watched with the vigilance of a guard dog every time, but the ghosts made no attempt to push her from her body. The twins were eventually joined by several others, boys and girls. Mairon wondered if they were drawn to Nienna, those who feared too much to accept Námo's call.

“They need toys too,” the child announced one day. “Can we make toys for all of them?”

“That could be difficult.” Mairon pondered the mechanics of creating an object a ghost could hold and keep. “I think I can do it, though. Ask them what they’d like.”

They conferred excitedly, and Mairon settled down to several long evenings of cutting and sewing. He put together dogs and horses and dolls, and one dragon for a girl who’d been almost too shy to request it. The child learned to sew on tails and buttons for eyes, and she kept checking that he got all the colors right. As her pile of gifts grew, she seemed to put on years. Mairon said nothing about it, but he hoped it was a good sign.

She grinned and sat back with a satisfied look as they finished the last toy. “This is the best. They're all going to be so happy! You are like the king of good presents.” Her brow creased. “Why does that sound familiar…? Is that…a name? Tar...Annatar? Did I know someone…?” She shook her head. “Can we go give these out now?”

Mairon released the breath he'd been holding and tried to cast off his dread. “That name—does Ost-in-Edhil sound familiar too?”

She paused. “I don't think so.”

“How about Celebrimbor? Lord Celebrimbor?”

She mouthed the syllables. “I don't remember, but…it makes me feel sad.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don't like this; it isn't fun.”

“Don't worry about it; let's pack up all these presents.” She helped him place them in a sack, but her bubbly mood was broken. “I'll need to do some special finishing touches as I deliver these, and I'll need to be alone for that. Do you think you can sleep with someone else tonight?”

Her downcast face fell further. “I can't come with you? Do you even know which toy is whose?”

He rattled off the list, describing the child spirits. None of them remembered their names either. “The only one I'm not sure of is which twin gets which dog, but I'm sure they'll tell me.”

“I suppose. I don't want to sleep anywhere else; Malliriel gets night terrors and Maglor sings in his sleep, and I don't know anyone else that well.”

Mairon raised an eyebrow and wondered how she'd come by that information. “You can stay here if you think you'll be all right by yourself. Maglor's just a couple doors down if you need something.”

“I know.” 

He waited until she was asleep, curled up with her wolf under her arm. The great hall was quiet and dark. He made his way to a remote corner where no late night wanderers would be likely to disturb him. As he brought out the toys, the ghosts congregated around him.

“You really brought them!”

“They’re so pretty; which one’s for me?”

“One at a time,” Mairon told them. “I’m going to sing them into a shape you can touch, but you’ll have to be patient.” He hoped he’d be able to manage it. By far it would be the largest attempt he’d made to use his power. He began by slashing a blade across his upper arm. Work with the dead required sacrifice. Singing slowly in spiraling layers, he took the first toy and held it out towards the child he’d made it for. “Hold out your hands.” He touched a drop of his blood to the toy and another to the tiny fëa. The enchantment wound around her and her toy, but his collar was painfully tight. He felt it take just as he was certain he could hold out no longer, and the child seized her toy and ran off laughing. After a long moment’s rest, he turned to the next.

The air shifted about him by almost imperceptible degrees. He paused, gasping for breath. His collar burned. The weight of an inexpressible sorrow had settled upon him. The stones wept and the shadows mourned. A sob was wrung from his throat, but rather than collapsing in grief, he found himself wishing he could gather all the lost ghosts in his arms and shield them from their pain.

“Nienna? I know you’re there.”

She materialized in the edge of the candlelight, trailing wisps of mist and shadow that wrapped about her form. She wore a black veil, and Mairon sensed it hid a face that was not there. He thought if he could see them, her tears would be blood. She laid a hand upon his neck, and the pain from his collar ceased. He coughed and took several deep, heaving breaths.

“This is necromancy,” she said.

“Yes. Are you going to punish me?”

“When you’ve brought joy to those who’ve known little but cold and loneliness? Of course not.” He felt her smile. “Though I would advise against such endeavors in the realms of my colleagues. Finish your work; I won’t hinder you.”

Far from hindering, she kept her hand on him. Without the collar holding him back, Mairon tested his limits. He was far weaker than he had been before the Ring’s destruction, but not as much as he had feared. A few well-placed notes sufficed for each child. The twins waited until last, keeping an eye on the others and making them take turns. Mairon presented them with the two dogs and basked in their beaming smiles. 

“How are you?” Nienna asked him when he was done. 

“The child is doing well, I think. She seems happy, at least. This was her idea; she wanted to do something good for them. She remembers bits of things here and there, but--”

“Mairon. I asked about _you_.”

“I…” He’d been so busy worrying about the child he’d been distracted from his own problems. “I don’t know. I’m trying my best to do what you wanted. I…Can I have some advice?”

“You’ve only to ask.”

“I’m scared of what’s going to happen when she does remember. Even if I didn’t…hurt her…she’s going to know who I was. Do I tell her now? Do I wait until she figures it out herself? She trusts me; what if she feels betrayed?”

“What has hiding the truth done for you before?”

He thought of Tyelpë and his insistence that everything would have been better if he’d been honest. “Nothing good,” he whispered.

“You have also to think of her age. Don’t burden her with more than she can understand; don’t frighten her with details. Tell her only what’s important: that you used to be an enemy, that she might remember you that way, and that you aren’t anymore.”

Mairon nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll talk to her in the morning.”


	15. Memory

The child was resting fitfully, whimpering in her sleep, when Mairon slid under the covers. Her face was rounder, younger. He could always tell if she’d had bad dreams; she’d wake a bit smaller than she’d gone to bed. He put an arm around her and sang softly, a silly little tune he’d picked up from Maglor about a man in the moon. She sighed and grew quiet, and Mairon fell asleep listening to her heartbeat.

“The scary man was in my dreams again,” she announced. 

Mairon was combing her hair as gently as he could. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“The goblins took me to his tower deep in the dark woods, and he was there, with his horrible yellow eyes, and he—he hurt me, and he said he wouldn’t stop until I told him about Imladris. What’s Imladris?” 

Mairon’s hand stilled as she spoke, and he laid aside the comb. “Imladris was one of the great elven strongholds. It—” _Imladris. Lórien. Twins. Brought to Dol Guldur._ His stomach twisted, and he looked down at the silver hair in his fingers. He should have known sooner. _“A reborn spirit takes the last form in which it remembers feeling whole and well,”_ Nienna had said. He’d let her apparent age throw him off when he should have seen clearly, if only he’d wanted to. He had poisoned even the idea of her body so deeply she’d had to return to her childhood to recall feeling safe. He choked back a sob. He had no right to be upset, not when he had to take care of her, of the pain he’d created. 

“Mairon?”

Hugging her tight, he kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to tell you a story. But first…you have to know something. I…wasn’t a nice person, in the past. I did bad things. I hurt people. And…well, if you remember me from before…I’m really, really sorry.”

Her eyes were wide and confused. “That can’t be right. You’re so nice to me.”

“Do you want the story?”

She nodded. 

“Once, there was a little girl with silver hair, and her name was Celebrian. She lived in a beautiful city full of wonders and art, with her mother Galadriel and Celeborn, her father. But Galadriel dreamed of trouble to come, and so she took her family across the mountains to the golden wood of Lórien, and she became its queen.” Mairon took a deep breath to steady himself. The child watched him intently, as though looking away would break a spell. 

“In Lórien, Celebrian grew into a brave and wise princess, and she was happy there, until she met the lord of Imladris—”

“Elrond,” she breathed. “How could I forget him?” She started to cry. “I loved him. We—we had children. Arwen and Elladan and Elrohir. I was their _mother_. How could I forget them?” She looked down at herself. “This is so weird.” She climbed into Mairon’s lap and clung to him, hiding her face in his shoulder.

Mairon held her gently, all too aware it would be the last time. 

“Your name was Annatar then, wasn’t it? That’s why I knew it. You were always with Uncle Celebrimbor. You used to bring me little trinkets from the forge.” She smiled up at him. “You two were so cute together. I would tease him and make him promise he’d let me plan your wedding. It was going to be a really good one. But you never…why didn’t…” She tilted her head, the memory eluding her. 

“You saw me another time,” Mairon offered quietly.

“Yes. In the tower. I saw you in my dreams. You said—you promised you’d come for me. You’d rescue me. I just had to hold on and…tell him what he wanted.” She took his face in her hands and studied it. “You didn’t rescue Celebrimbor.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“You were the one who killed him.”

Mairon nodded miserably.

“You--your eyes. I know those eyes. You were Annatar, and you were the scary man too.” She scrambled back. “No. You—I hate you. You’re a monster. Don’t touch me!”

“I won’t hurt you. Not ever again.” Mairon held himself still, ignoring every instinct screaming to go to her and give her comfort. She stared at him for a long moment, and then she dashed for the door. 

Mairon waited until she’d had plenty of time to get away and wandered through the deepest shadows he could find. He couldn’t bear eyes upon him right now; he couldn’t bear the thought of being spoken to. He ended up where he’d known he would, gazing into the empty eye sockets of a thousand grinning skulls. Sinking to the floor, he laid his head back against the wall. He was surprised to find he felt more joy than sorrow, and though it was a quiet and self-effacing joy, it was stubborn too. Of course it hurt to lose her. But everything he’d set out to accomplish, he had. Celebrian had her name, and she would live. He’d kept his word. Was this what Celebrimbor meant, he wondered, when he’d said that love was wanting the other’s happiness, however much one might wish for something easier?

A moment of fear washed over him at the thought of all the people he was coming to love. Life had been simple when Melkor’s happiness was his one goal, achievable by obedience and single-minded devotion. Now…there were others to think of, not hypotheticals, but living, breathing people he cared about and the ones they cared for in turn, all of whom he needed to protect. It didn’t matter what Melkor wanted, he realized. He would not let harm befall them. Not Celebrian. Not Maglor or his gaggle of irritating brothers. Not Celebrimbor. This small, quiet joy was unlike anything he’d felt, and he refused to lose it. He hoped Melkor could come to understand, but if not—he knew his answer. 

And was it so strange, to expect his love not to make impossible demands of him? To be able to live in partnership without one lover bound to unquestioning obedience? His relationship with Celebrimbor, in the good times, hadn’t been like that, although Celebrimbor’s refusal to obey him and hand over the rings had been their downfall. But Mairon had been wrong to ask that; he knew that now. He thought of others he had known. Yavanna would never ask Aulë to abandon what he believed was right. Nor would Maedhros ask it of Fingon. They had given each other room to make their own choices. He didn’t know if Melkor could learn to do the same. Maybe it couldn’t be like that, for a Maia and a Vala. Melkor had been greater than him from the beginning. Mairon had always knelt before him. He _liked_ to kneel. But maybe…maybe they could find some sort of compromise. That thought felt like hope, and Mairon rested in it as the day slowly waned.

Night fell and took away the last fingers of light reaching across the floor. Lost in thought, Mairon didn’t hear footsteps. As silent as a ghost, someone lifted his arm and pulled it around their own shoulders. Mairon looked down at the silver-haired head resting on his chest. She said nothing, and Mairon didn’t move, glad just to have her there again. She was older, not quite an adult but not a child either, and Mairon wondered if that’s where she’d settled.

“This is where we met,” she said after a while.

“Mmhmm.”

“Why do you come here? It’s so gloomy and creepy.”

“Well…I have a lot to think about here. I killed some of these elves, and the armies I commanded killed the rest. I was in the wrong—I and my master both. There’s no getting around that. And yet…they destroyed everything I cared about. They slew all the friends I had left in the world. They wounded my lord whom I loved and stole him away. I regret those days, and I’m angry at what they took, and most of all I wish never to be in that position again.” 

“The bright prince in the story—that was you.”

“Yes.”

“Do you hate Lúthien for what she did to you? I married her great-grandson; do you hate my family?” 

“No. I used to hate her, but I don’t anymore. She only wanted to be with her love, didn’t she? I can understand that.” 

She nodded thoughtfully. “I’m really angry at you.”

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t. I did horrible things to you. I can tell you I’m sorry again and again, and I am, but that doesn’t make it not have happened.” 

“It's not just that. I'm angry that you tortured me, yes. I'm angry that you killed me in the end. But I'm also angry at your kindness, and I know that hardly makes sense. I wish I could hate you, plain and simple. I wish you hadn't made things complicated. You’ve been really good to me here. That doesn’t make up for the past. I don't think anything could. But…I don’t want to stay angry. I don’t want to have to start from there. Can we start from here instead? I like you. I like who you are now. Do you think we could still be friends?” 

Mairon could barely speak. “I would like that very much.”

They sat together in silence, and Mairon thought perhaps the world was not so cruel as he'd believed, if it could contain this.

“I think it's time for bed,” Celebrian said at last, rising.

“We should fix you your own room.”

“Already taken care of. Maglor helped me. Did you know he's basically my father-in-law?”

“He must have been delighted to learn that. I understand Elrond is very dear to him.”

She nodded. “Umm…about Elrond. If there’s any news…he promised he would meet me here in Aman someday. I need to be where I'll hear when ships come in. I want to go live in Tirion.”

“Let's talk to Maglor in the morning.”

“There’s gonna be so much to explain when I see him. He doesn’t even know I died.”

“How is that?”

“After I was rescued…my body recovered, mostly, but…I couldn’t get past what had happened. I was still hurting so much, and…my hold on life was slipping. Elrond wanted me to sail; he thought I could get better here, and we both knew I was beyond any healing Middle-Earth could offer. So I left. I made it to the Havens; I made it onto a ship. And I faded away on the water.” 

She looked like she would cry, and though Mairon wanted to disappear and hide in shame, he offered her his arms instead.

*

“You’ll need a guardian,” Maglor said over a breakfast of bacon and eggs and warm bread. “I know you may not want one, but—”

“No, it’s okay,” Celebrian interrupted. “I talked this over with Nienna at length yesterday. Seems the body pulls a lot more weight when it comes to thinking and being able to do things than you’d imagine. Just because my fëa is thousands of years old doesn’t make me a mature adult, I’m informed.” She made a wry face. “Honestly, I don’t feel up to living on my own anyway. Not yet. So…maybe we could go to Tirion together?”

Maglor shook his head. “I’m sorry, hon, I’m not up to that. I…don’t know that I will be anytime soon.”

“Mairon? Please?”

“That’s impossible. I’ve been so happy and honored to do what I could for you here, but it would be all kinds of inappropriate. I live with Melkor, and I cannot bring you into that.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. Your dark prince.”

He gave her a little smile.

“The obvious choice is your grandfather, Finarfin,” Maglor suggested. “I’m sure you’ll be welcome at court.”

Celebrian scowled. “Court is the last place I want to be. I don’t need a bunch of busybodies gawking at me.”

“One of your uncles, then? I think Finrod has a quiet little place in the woods outside town.”

Mairon flinched at the name but tried to hide it.

“I don’t know. Mother never liked to talk about them. They feel so distant…just names out of history books.” She rested her chin on her hands. “What about Maedhros? He’s family too, and I’ve heard so many stories from Elrond…I think I’d be more comfortable with him. And he won’t treat me like I’m made of glass or pity me. Right?”

“If that’s what you’re worried about…Maedhros will understand.”

“All right, then. How soon can I leave? Who might be willing to make the journey with me?”

“I’ll take you,” offered Mairon.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to leave yet just because of me.”

“I think it’s time I got back. I’ll be ready to go when you are.”

“We should really write ahead and make sure Maedhros is willing to have you,” said Maglor. 

“I don’t want to wait; it’ll take forever for a letter to get there and back. What if there's letters waiting for me? What if Elrond’s already here and doesn’t know where to find me?!”

Maglor sighed. “You know you might have to wait a long time for him.”

“But…he isn’t needed to defend Middle-Earth anymore. Now that Sauron’s been defeated—” She caught herself and glanced apologetically at Mairon.

“I don’t mind,” he said.

“Now that Mairon’s no longer an enemy,” she amended, “there’s no reason for him to linger, surely.”

“I don’t think a few weeks will make a difference,” Maglor insisted.

“It makes a difference to me! Please?”

“If he says no, you’ll be stuck with King Finarfin.”

“Fine! I’ll live with it or I’ll figure out something else.”

“At least let me send a letter ahead of you so he and Fingon know you’re on the way. You’ll want a few days to prepare regardless.”

“Days? Ugh. I wanted to leave tomorrow.”

“A few days.”

“Fine.”


	16. Return

Morning was cold and grey. The horses stamped their feet. Celebrian stood out in her red scarf; she’d worked an elaborate lacy border around the uneven strip she’d started with as she learned anew. She’d spent most of yesterday saying goodbye to her friends, both living and dead. The people Mairon cared about most had ventured into the chilly dawn to see them off. Maglor embraced him. It still felt strange for an elf—much less a Fëanorion—to offer him anything but fear and hatred, but it was a strangeness he appreciated deeply. He allowed himself to hope he’d experience it again. 

“Thank you,” Maglor said for his ears alone. “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me. Tell Maedhros I miss him.”

Mairon dreaded facing Maedhros again, but he wasn’t going to let that show in front of Maglor or Celebrian. “I’ll tell him. Take care.” He turned to Nienna. “If things don’t work out, I’m going to give myself to you.”

She smiled and clasped his hands. “Don’t say that so lightly. You always have a place here, and you needn’t pledge yourself for it. Any time you need a retreat or just want to visit, don’t hesitate to come.”

Mairon nodded and stepped toward the horses—Celebrian had already leapt upon hers and was fidgeting impatiently—but he looked back and caught her sleeve. “What am I going to say to him? I know who I’m going to be; how can I…do you think it’s even possible not to lose him?”

Nienna regarded him thoughtfully. “I can’t repeat what he said to me, but know that he loves you without measure. Trust in that and pursue what you want, and I have hope that all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.”

Mairon thought perhaps that love was only for his absolute devotion, his cruelty, his usefulness in war, but he would not argue with words so fair.

“At last,” Celebrian huffed when he swung into the saddle. They waved a last farewell and rode out. 

The journey across Valinor was much more pleasant than his first. Aman’s winters were mild, and the cold air was more brisk and enlivening than uncomfortable. Celebrian wanted to stop often to marvel at a waterfall or a particularly lovely mountainside dusted with snow, but she never tarried long. Mairon almost wished she would; he didn’t know what lay ahead, but he was afraid. 

The streets of Tirion were unfamiliar to them both. Mairon hadn’t cared to explore any further after his encounter with Curufin. He got several disgusted looks when he asked for directions to Maedhros’ house. He had Celebrian ask instead, but the ellon she approached spat and cursed at the name. Interesting. It wasn’t him they were responding to, then. He hadn’t realized Fëanor’s sons faced such disapprobation themselves. At last they found someone willing to point it out, and Mairon dismounted and knocked on the door.

Maedhros opened it and scowled at Mairon. “Did I somehow give you the impression that I ever wanted to see you again? What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

Mairon stepped back. “Maglor sent a letter. To say we were coming. To explain.”

“I received no letter. Get out of here.” He shut the door in their faces.

At a small sound, Mairon looked over at Celebrian with concern. She was trying to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think he likes you.” For some reason she found that uncontrollably funny and burst into laughter. “Sorry. You can go on and I'll talk to him on my own.”

Mairon shook his head. “I'm not going to leave until I know you're safe and settled.” He banged on the door again and pushed Celebrian forward when Maedhros finally gave in and answered. “This is the wife of your son Elrond, Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel, and you aren't going to ignore her because of me.” He backed up and waited with the horses. 

Maedhros raised an eyebrow but nodded to her. “I wish you well, young lady, but you're only a child. Why you would want to claim kinship with me is beyond my understanding, but please don't use Elrond to do it.”

She crossed her arms. “I wasn’t a child when I died.”

Maedhros glanced almost imperceptibly at his right hand.

“Have you had any word of Elrond? Is he here?”

“He is not, but I ask about him whenever there are new travelers from Imladris. I'm told he and his sons are well and may sail before long.” 

“And what of our daughter? Have you heard anything about Arwen?”

Maedhros contemplated her. “It is said she's made Lúthien's choice and will wed a mortal king.”

“No.” Celebrian fell to her knees, and Mairon rushed to her side. “Please no, it can't be true.” Mairon held her as she sobbed, though he felt the weight of Maedhros' gaze upon him.

“I'm sorry, my lady. Is news all you want of me?” Maedhros asked. “I've no more to share, but I can tell you who to go to for stories of the late war.”

“She needs a place to stay while she waits for him,” Mairon said when she kept crying. “Maglor and I wanted to send her to King Finarfin, but she preferred to ask you first.”

“Celebrian. I do know your name. You are welcome in my home for as long as you wish, but… _he_ is not. Please bid him farewell and send him away, and then come inside. I'll let Fingon know we have a guest.”

“Lord Maedhros?” 

Maedhros stopped and looked at Mairon.

“Maglor wanted me to tell you he misses you.”

He nodded curtly and disappeared within, leaving the door open.

Celebrian cried harder and clung to Mairon. “I'll never see my little girl again.”

“I'm so sorry,” Mairon murmured into her hair, wishing he knew what else to say or do.

It was some time before she spoke. “He's wrong if he thinks he'll keep me away from you.” 

“He didn't say that. Just not here where he has to see me too.”

“I know he was thinking it.”

“Are you reconsidering? I'm not very popular here; most people would do the same.”

“No, I still think this is right.”

“Well, then. Write to me at Aulë's house, or come find me there.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “I will. Thank you so much.” 

She didn't want to turn loose, but he reluctantly disentangled her from his arms and kissed her forehead. “Go on.” He mounted his horse and forced himself not to look back.

*

Mairon greeted Aulë hastily and hurried down the hall, both impatient and terrified to see Melkor again. He froze at the sound of voices within. 

“What makes you think I will ever be your friend?” Melkor snarled. “I have no fondness to spare for my gaol-keeper.”

The reply was murmured too soft to hear.

“Fine. You come in semblance of peace, _brother,_ so a semblance you shall have. Do not dare to think it more.”

Mairon couldn’t decide whether the quiet voices or the rebellious silences sounded more uncomfortable. Chairs scraped against the floor.

“Little flame!”

Mairon jumped.

“I can hear you out there. Don’t skulk; come inside.”

Hesitantly Mairon pushed the door open. Melkor sat across from Manwë at a small table that held a tea service and a platter of tiny, elegant cakes. As he stepped inside, Melkor snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor beside him. Nothing about it was subtle. _Not in front of Manwë, please!_ Mairon bit his lip. Melkor hadn’t even looked his way, and after his long absence that hurt. Mairon’s stomach clenched at the thought of the Lord of Eagles observing what they’d always held private and sacred between them. Yet that particular order wasn’t one he ever wanted to decline. He crossed the room and knelt at Melkor’s feet. Manwë’s eyes followed him, unsure and a little…embarrassed? 

“You were saying, dear brother?” Melkor’s voice was silky and venomous as he poured the tea. 

In the pause that followed, Manwë seemed to cast about for a safe topic. “I heard you were writing a history. A great number of scholars are eagerly awaiting it. You’ll have quite the audience.”

“Why, that must be simply alarming. Who knows what cursed secrets I might include.”

“I only meant to congratulate you.”

Mairon almost pitied Manwë but was distracted immediately. Melkor was holding a bite-size pink cake to his lips. _Why would you debase me like this? I should be at your side, your proud lieutenant!_ Mairon squeezed his eyes shut and accepted the morsel from Melkor’s hand. He wished he knew what Melkor was playing at. The cake tasted of strawberries and cream. Mairon tried to focus on that and not the way he was being displayed like an exotic pet. 

“Well, if you truly wanted to show your good will…I do have some research questions I’ve had a hard time finding answers to. For the book.”

“I’d be happy to help!” Manwë sounded pathetically eager. Mairon wanted to sit him down and explain that was no way to approach diplomacy.

“I’m curious about the fate of Avathar and the wider regions south of Aman.” 

Melkor offered Mairon another exquisitely iced cake. Chocolate. His hands shook ever so slightly. Understanding clicked into place. Whatever else Melkor was up to, and Mairon was sure it was something, part of what he wanted was the comfort of knowing he had one thing in his control. Mairon’s demeanor shifted minutely; he turned his attention more fully to Melkor, bowed his head more gracefully, let submission breathe into every aspect of his body. 

“After Ungoliant left her lair to follow me, whatever became of those lands?”

“Ah. Sadly, the earth is poisoned and the area full of Ungoliant’s foul brood. Nothing grows there; it’s just a wasteland.”

Mairon kissed Melkor’s fingers delicately as he took the next bite. Walnut and caramel and marzipan. Manwë shifted in his seat.

“And no one’s tried to clean it up? To reclaim it? It lies empty to this day?”

“It’s…all giant spiders and dried-out corpses.”

“I see. What a shame. I should never have harbored that frightful creature.”

Melkor ate one of the chocolate cakes himself and extended his icing-covered fingers to Mairon, who tried his best to tune out Manwë’s presence as he sucked them clean.

Manwë pushed his chair back hastily. “It’s been truly a joy to see you, brother. I fear I’ve run out of time, but I hope you’ll humor me and allow me to visit again.”

“Oh, I’m _devastated_ you have to leave so soon. Of course you must come back.” He pushed his fingers deeper into Mairon’s mouth, and Mairon moaned softly.

Manwë fled.

“What was that, my lord?” Mairon demanded as soon as he was gone.

“Perfect timing is what it was.” Melkor grinned conspiratorially. “He might have stuck around and bored me all afternoon if not for you.”

Mairon wondered what Melkor was hiding behind that bravado. Surely Manwë’s mere presence wasn’t enough to make him tremble? He didn’t push. Sighing, he braced himself for the moment he’d dreaded. “So…I suppose you want to discuss my loyalty.”

“I do not, in fact.” Melkor toyed with a glass of cut crystal, turning it back and forth in the light. “I would, however, like to know that my inexcusable temper hasn’t ruined everything already.”

“I'm here, aren't I?” He turned and leaned back against Melkor's legs, laying his head in his lap and gazing up at him. “May I ask what in Arda you were going to do if I didn't obey? That was quite a risk, considering.”

“I knew you would. And if you hadn't…at that point I wouldn't have cared anymore how badly I’d embarrassed myself. It wouldn't matter.”

This wasn’t any version he'd imagined of his homecoming. He'd been ready for more vitriol, for Melkor to listen, tight-lipped and resentful, as he tried to explain. On more optimistic days, for Melkor to sweep him off his feet and make him promise never to leave again. Instead Melkor seemed fragile and subdued, and Mairon wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I've been visiting Lórien,” Melkor volunteered. His eyes were anywhere but on Mairon. “You’re always right, so… It’s what you wanted, isn't it?”

Mairon’s eyes widened. He knew how much fear Melkor held for both Fëanturi. He had regretted his suggestion even before Melkor had struck him for it. How much courage must it have taken for Melkor to approach Irmo? “Has it helped, my lord?”

Melkor shrugged. “I don't wake screaming every time I sleep. Only most of them. But I have been sleeping. So I suppose that's better?”

“I'm sorry,” Mairon whispered.

“For what? You only tried to take care of me as you always have.”

Mairon shook his head. “I should have tried harder, back then. Done better. Found the right words the first time I got you back…I should never have let them hurt you.”

“My precious and most admirable. There's nothing you could have changed that would have prevented that.”

“If I’d insisted that we abandon Angband and go into the East—”

“It was a pretty dream. You know I would never have chosen that, not when I’d just come with the Silmarils, full of triumph and anger and spite. The war was not your choice, and it wasn't your fault. Neither was my defeat.”

He knew it wouldn't have saved him from all that he would like to undo, but Mairon clung stubbornly to the idea all the same. “I should have tried.”

Melkor wound his fingers through Mairon's soft short curls. 

“Are you sure you aren't still angry with me?” Mairon asked.

“I wasn’t angry at you then. I'm angry at our circumstances. I'm angry at…” He sighed and shook his head. “Not at you.”

Curling up in bed wrapped in Melkor's arms filled Mairon with deep contentment, though he was certain the fight would resurface when Melkor forgot his loneliness. Nothing had really been resolved. Under the pillow he felt a scrap of paper. Melkor already slept. Mairon pulled it out. It was torn and waterstained but recognizable as the end of his letter. _I will return. I love you more than anything. Your servant, Mairon._

“You walk differently,” Melkor observed the next day. “Taller. You hold your head up like you’re proud again, and there’s a light in your eyes. I'm glad.” 

Mairon tilted his head. “I wasn’t aware I had done anything else.”

“You were a half-dead waif when I first saw you here, and ever since Curufin, you’ve cringed like a beaten dog, always waiting for the next blow to fall. It hurt just to watch. Nienna must have been good for you.”

“Everyone in her house was good for me.” Mairon smiled softly, thinking of inviting darkness and melancholy. “I think you would like it there too.”

Melkor didn't answer. He tugged Mairon around a bend in the garden path and gestured into the shade. It took Mairon a moment to process what he saw. Short logs stood on end in clusters and rows, filling the space under every tree and lining the fence. Without even trying he heard the interconnected whispers of mycelium in the Song, and when he listened closer, he could distinguish at least a hundred species of mushroom growing in them. 

“Most of them won't fruit until spring, but expanding the collection is what I care about right now.” Melkor put an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. “I asked Aulë for space to set up my own lab too; there's even more inside.”

“How’d you come by so many?” Mairon didn't try to hide his wonder.

“I found them here and there. On walks, mostly. I…may have taken a walk through Yavanna’s secret underground vault at one point.”

“You what?!” Mairon looked up sharply.

“They were mine to begin with, and I left her the greater part of everything I took.” Worry bled into Melkor's eyes. “I didn't hurt anyone.”

Mairon considered. “Well…if no one was hurt…they do belong to you anyway…”

Melkor visibly relaxed. “I'm glad you see it that way. I do value your opinion, you know.”

“Please just don't get caught and thrown back into the Void. I would hate to lose you over foolish mischief.”

“I'm here, aren't I?” 

Mairon grabbed him and held him tight.


	17. Beginnings

Mairon had grown accustomed to waking at the first sound of Celebrian’s tears, but these were almost silent. Melkor clearly didn’t want to be heard. His body trembled with suppressed sobs. His face was pressed into Mairon’s curls, which were already wet. Mairon rolled onto his side and pulled Melkor into his arms.

“Why did you come back?” he whispered.

“Because you weren’t there.”

“But you were happy.”

“Not without you.”

Melkor drew a shaky breath. “I don’t understand what you see in me anymore. All I am is death and destruction.”

“That’s not true. It never was.”

Mairon could barely hear his next words. “They wouldn’t have left me alone in the dark if there were anything in me of worth.”

“Since when do you let your siblings decide that?” Mairon struggled not to cry himself. He hadn’t realized Melkor felt this way, and he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “Do you remember when we Sang before time began?” It was hazy in Mairon's mind, but he’d clung to the parts that mattered to him most. He knew his Vala recalled it more clearly. “You created a new sound, and the others thought it discord, loud and senseless repetition, but I could see how it fit together into something grander, how every iteration was a further piece in this huge and complex fractal you were weaving, and it was beautiful. I would have followed you then, but I thought I could never be worthy of your notice, so I stayed where I knew I’d be useful and dreamed of you in whispers and inklings. Even when we descended and I should have remembered only Aulë and my purpose, like the others, I longed for you without knowing your name.”

“You've told me this, little flame, but it’s changed, has it not? You no longer care for what I sang.”

“Was it truly what you sang, the things we did?” 

Melkor was silent for a long time. “I don't know,” he said softly. “It's not what I dreamed of, then. I wanted to create stunning and glorious things, to rule because it was my due, but not with cruelty for cruelty’s sake. But…it takes only the smallest alteration in the beginning for the outcome to end leagues away from intentions. How do I know if that was my making from the start or if a single breath in the wrong moment threw it all awry?” He shook his head. “Even if there might have been something different once…ruin is all I became.”

“No. It isn't all I see, and it doesn't have to be the future. You are the heights and the deeps; you are ice and fire and the silent space between the stars; you are the greater infinity and the infinite series that sums to one, and…” Melkor had curled into Mairon's chest and was quietly sobbing again. “And I love you,” Mairon finished firmly. “Please don't ever doubt that.”

Melkor said no more, and after a while he slept.

*

The library was in disarray, and Mairon spent most of his first week back setting it to rights. He still got dirty looks from most elves that happened to wander in while he was there, but he found he didn’t mind as much now that he knew there were people who had his back, who wouldn’t flinch away from his touch. He was reshelving the last of a towering stack when he heard the murmurs.

“Do you think that’s him? He doesn’t look so intimidating.”

“Just picture him in the lieutenant’s crown and the long red robes and the perpetual scowl.”

“Oh. I can see it. His hair’s so short; he looks like a thrall, between that and the collar.”

“Do you suppose—”

Mairon moved to cut off this line of reasoning before it could go any farther. “Can I help you, gentlemen? Lady?”

The three of them glanced at each other self-consciously at his formal address. One of the men stepped forward. “We were formerly thralls in Angband, and we heard that you’d offered redress to any who asked.”

“That’s right.”

“We want to be smiths.”

“You…want me to teach you? Surely there are far better teachers to be found…”

He scoffed. “And I’m sure whoever was willing to go those routes went them. The little group we’ve put together are those who haven’t found one. Most smiths want you to apprentice in exchange, and some of us have sworn never to call another ‘master’ again. Or we tried, and the first time a too-loud noise sent us into a panic, we were told ‘Go to Lórien! Go to Estë! Come back when you’re well!’ Not all of us are willing to let the Valar muck around in our heads, and some of us went and are as well as we’re going to get. So no, there aren’t better teachers for everyone. You understand what you’re dealing with, and you’ll have the decency to be ashamed of yourself for causing it instead of shaming us.”

Mairon held up his hands. “I’m sorry; I didn't know. I’ll teach any who want it. You’re right; I do understand. There’s…but what of Aulë? He teaches any who seek him; he would work with your constraints.”

“Fuck the Valar,” said the other ellon. “They left us to rot for five hundred years. He's no better than the rest.”

The first agreed. “That’s how most of us feel.”

“I…I’ll do my best, but I’m afraid I’ll only make you panic too.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure it would be different for those who spent any time in the dungeons, but…we were just ordinary thralls. Do you know when we saw you? When you came to make sure the orcs were feeding us. When you pulled people for medical attention.”

“You saved my sister from being beaten to death once,” the elleth said softly.

Mairon closed his eyes. “You understand I did that only in the name of efficiency? Starving slaves can’t work as hard. It’s better to patch up injuries while they’re minor rather than let them fester and kill. I know many believed we had endless supplies of captives, but we couldn’t afford to lose them needlessly.” 

“I don’t think we have any illusions that you cared about us. Nevertheless. You asked why we aren’t afraid of you. That’s why.”

“All right. How do you want to do this?”

“We thought…a couple of classes a week?”

“I can do that. Do you mind if it’s at night? It’ll be easier to get the forge space, but I’m sure I can make other arrangements—”

“Night’s fine. Sun doesn’t always agree with us that well anyway.”

The elleth tugged at the speaker’s sleeve. “Don’t forget to ask about Dregor and the others.”

He gave Mairon a fierce look. “We have a friend who lost his hearing thanks to Angband, and two who can hear but usually can't talk. Are you going to make that a problem?”

Mairon signed haltingly, searching his memories for gestured words he hadn’t thought about since Angband. “If the old thrall-speech is acceptable, I can speak it with them.”

Their stunned faces were aghast, and Mairon realized too late how large a thing he'd revealed, stripping them of the only privacy they'd believed they had long ago.

“You always knew our secrets?!”

“I knew your hidden language. I rarely had cause to spy, if that’s any comfort.”

There was a long pause, but they recovered quickly. “Well. That’ll make things simpler,” said the spokesman. “It’s changed a bit over the years, but you’ll catch up.”

Mairon nodded. “How many are you, all told?”

“Seven or eight. We’ll see. Just a couple more things, then. We’ve decided you aren’t to be left alone with anyone. There’s always going to be at least two students present, and if you try to pull someone away, we’ll be very unhappy.”

“I understand.”

“And lastly, you may be the teacher, but we are the masters. You’re here for our good. You’re not going to make demands; you’re not going to give orders; you’re not even going to think about pushing anyone to do something they don’t want. Is that clear?”

“Abundantly. I’m at your service, and I won’t forget it.”

“Very well. I’ll get everyone together, and we’ll settle on days.”

The elleth hung behind as the others left. “So…there's something else I want.”

“Yes?”

“No one in Aman can make what you can. I want to study under you because your work is what I admire. And…well…” Her voice fell to a whisper. “The great metal dragons you sent against Gondolin. I saw them pass through the gates of Angband, and it felt so wrong, but…I loved them. I know they were machines meant only to destroy…but…they were beautiful too, and so cunning, and…I want to make things like them. Not to hurt anyone—just for the art of it, or…maybe they can be made to help people…but I want them to exist again.”

Mairon said nothing for so long that she grew nervous and started to shrink back. He had never imagined an elf holding any appreciation for those works, for all that he’d been so proud of them, and the thought that someone might value them, even after Gondolin…he would have to ponder that. “They were creatures of clockwork and sorcery. I can teach you. You’ll start with the others, learning metalworking, and we’ll do engineering lessons for you on the side. It will take a long while to learn. Do you have another who will want to study with you? Is it all right to make an exception to the rule for you?”

She looked boldly into his eyes. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid to work alone.”

“And your name?”

“Geleth, my lord.”

“I’m no one’s lord. It’s just Mairon. Let me find you some books to start with. There’s a way to go before you get to any special knowledge of mine.”

As soon as they were gone, he headed to Aulë’s office. He was halfway there when he remembered the last time he’d tried to pick up a hammer, how he’d dropped it and run. How would he teach if he couldn’t touch his own tools without drowning in his memories? But…that hadn’t been the last time. He was forgetting the toy sword he’d forged for Celebrian. He hadn’t hesitated to attempt that; it simply hadn’t occurred to him to worry. Of course he’d had her excitement and her uninhibited questions at every stage of the process to distract him…but he’d have eager students to keep him busy now. Maybe it would be all right.

Aulë gave his enthusiastic support to the class, and if he’d heard the insult spoken under his own roof earlier, he didn’t mention it. 

*

Melkor sat under the trees in the fading light, in the center of a fairy ring formed of ghostly white mushrooms. Mairon waited for his invitation before stepping across. Kneeling behind his lord, he put his arms around him and kissed his neck.

“This would be easier to test almost anywhere else.” Melkor sighed. “Of all the places to be stuck.”

“What are you testing?”

“You know I always intended to restore the environs around Angband as soon as the war was over.”

Mairon hid his smile in Melkor’s shoulder. That brought back memories— _“I was going to clean that up,”_ as Mairon scooped up scattered reports or hung discarded robes. _“I would have fixed it,”_ as Mairon polished nicks out of Melkor’s sword. Mairon had seen the relief in his eyes as order was restored, and he hadn’t minded giving that aid. Most of the time.

“I was going to use mushrooms to remove contaminants from the soil, but…mmm. Things got in the way. Now I have nothing but time to solve that problem, and no contaminated soil to try them on.”

Mairon tilted his head. “Just what soil are you planning to cleanse? Angband and all the plains and mountains surrounding it are under the ocean, and I don’t think you’ll find much use for this in Valinor.”

“That’s not important.”

“Hmm. If you were willing to offer this idea to Aulë, you could probably work with mine runoff and heavy metals discarded from the workshops. There’s systems in place to handle that, but Aulë’s always interested in improvement.”

“But that would mean _helping_ him. Them. Everyone.”

“Well, yes.”

“I have a reputation to maintain.”

“I think it will take more than that to overthrow it. You needn’t worry.”

Melkor pushed Mairon into the ground and hovered over him, teasing him with little kisses. “Mairon?”

“Hmm?” Mairon was distracted trying to get more of his touch.

“Ask for me?”

Mairon rolled his eyes. “Fine, but only if I can get you out of these clothes.”

The winter air was cold, but Melkor kept him warm.


	18. Maedhros

A loud, persistent knock at the door roused Mairon from bed. He groaned as he pulled on a robe. He'd been up far too late to suffer pre-dawn visitors, though it had felt good to see his students begin to grasp how hot iron moved under their hammers. Stumbling to the door, Mairon opened it and stepped back in shock. Maedhros stood there, his long red hair trailing unkempt and tangled around his hips.

“I’d say I hope it's not too early, but I really don't care. You’re going to do me a fav—a service.”

Mairon crossed his arms. He didn't like being ordered around except by Melkor. But Maedhros had guessed correctly—he'd never turn him down. “What am I doing?”

“I was talking with Celebrian last night, and she told me about twin boys she met at Nienna’s house. Boys who died and never made it to Mandos’ halls. If they're who I think they are…it's my fault. I want to help them, and you’re going to help me.”

“Oh. All right. I’ll need a few days to prepare for the trip. Umm…is there a reason you don’t just take Celebrian? They trust her.”

“I won’t be able to see them or maybe even to hear them on my own. She said you helped her see them.”

Mairon nodded. “You should bring her along all the same.”

The haunted look that crossed Maedhros’ face told Mairon everything before Maedhros could. “I’ll feel better…look, I know you took care of her and you didn’t hurt her, I just…I won’t be able to concentrate on anything but worrying about her safety if I have to watch you with her.”

Mairon was certain Maedhros hadn’t wanted to show so much vulnerability. “I’m sorry for that. We’ll make do without her. They’ll come to me.”

“All right. That’s the plan, then. Here, she sent this for you.” Maedhros proffered him a letter sealed with silver wax. He looked like he’d rather burn it than let Mairon take it, but he handed it over anyway. He stepped closer, and Mairon was suddenly aware of exactly how far Maedhros loomed above him. “If you ever do hurt her again, I will hunt you down and I will find a way to kill you.”

Mairon stared up into Maedhros’ eyes. “If I ever hurt her, I will find you and beg you to kill me myself.”

They held each others’ gaze for a long moment. Maedhros gave him the briefest nod. “Three days. I’ll meet you here at first light.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Mairon yawned and crawled back under the warm covers beside Melkor, who stirred just enough to trap Mairon in a possessive embrace. Mairon sighed happily and snuggled closer. After a couple more hours of rest, Melkor nudged him awake.

“Who pulled you from bed so early, precious?”

“It was Maedhros. I have to go back to Nienna with him.” Mairon rubbed his eyes. “Not for long,” he hastily added when he saw Melkor's desolate look. “He needs my help; it’s nothing bad. I shouldn't be away more than a few weeks.”

Melkor stroked his short hair. “He hurt you. I don't want you at his mercy again.”

Mairon almost laughed in disbelief. “My lord. I hurt him. Horribly. We both did. I owe him whatever I can offer.”

Clutching him tight, Melkor kissed him desperately. “Please. Please don't leave me alone. I can't bear it.”

“Come with me. Nienna would welcome you.” Mairon gently brushed away the tears gathering in Melkor's eyes.

“I don't think that would be permitted. Aulë only sends me to Lórien with armed escorts.” Melkor's voice was quiet and hoarse, and Mairon knew it must have taken effort to admit that aloud. “I'm glad they give you as much freedom as they do. I wouldn't want you to feel so caged. But I don’t have that same freedom.”

 _That was a bigger risk than you let on, going after your mushrooms,_ Mairon thought. “I doubt they'd say no, if you did want to come along. I bet we could arrange it.”

Melkor shook his head quickly. “I don't want to be seen like that. Led around. Their captive. It's bad enough when I do have to travel.”

“It's that or be without me for a time,” Mairon said softly. “I'm sorry it has to be so hard a choice. Is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

“Just promise me you'll hurry back.”

“I promise.” Mairon didn't thank him for not trying to forbid him this time, and Melkor didn't point out that he should also have that option, but the weight hung between them all the same. Disobeying a direct order had been unthinkable to Mairon once, and that it wasn't now…neither wanted to talk about what that meant.

Celebrian’s letter was a pleasure Mairon hadn’t quite dared to hope for, despite her assurances. _Uncle Mairon,_ it began. _I hope it's all right to call you that? I'm managing well enough considering. It hurts to know I can't tell my daughter goodbye, but I hope her choice makes her happy. I really like Maedhros and Fingon, though I miss you & wish there weren't such hard feelings to deal with between you._ She went on to chat for several pages about the little gyrfalcon Fingon had given her and the new cloak she was weaving. Mairon smiled and hunted for pen and ink to reply. 

When he finished, he laid out a fresh sheet of paper. He didn't want to abandon his students; they'd gotten off to a good start in the last weeks, and it wouldn't be fair for them to lose that momentum. Aulë and any of his Maiar were out of the question. He thought of some possible substitutes he'd known among the Gwaith-i-mírdain, but he doubted they'd be pleased to hear from him. The one he wanted most had told him to his face they couldn't meet again, but he hadn’t said not to write… Mairon was torn over whether he was breaking the spirit of Tyelpë's wish. He sighed. _Might as well start there._

 _ ~~Tyelpë~~ ~~My belov~~_

He crumpled that sheet. 

_Lord Celebrimbor,_  
_Please let me know if I am too bold in writing to you, and I won't do so again. I wish to request your assistance…_

He explained the circumstances of his class and the beginning the elves had made, and sent the letter off. He received an answer the next day.

_It sounds like an excellent undertaking. I would be glad to teach in your absence. C._

A little thrill went through him. Even if he couldn’t see Tyelpë again, to know he was willing to share this, to share anything, filled him with a warm glow. He tucked the note in his pocket to keep it close.

*

Maedhros awaited him at dawn as he’d said. They rode in silence most of the day, Maedhros following just behind. Mairon felt his eyes upon him but didn't protest. When they stopped for the night, Mairon noticed Maedhros growing ever more nervous. There was no hiding it; Mairon had long ago learned all Maedhros’ little tells. He had gone very still and stared intently into the fire.

“You aren’t going to sleep, are you? Because I’m here.”

Maedhros jumped almost imperceptibly. “Would you?” he snapped. “It’s nothing. I’ve gone without for less reason.”

“Why didn’t you bring Fingon along so you could feel safe? I don’t want to do this to you.”

Maedhros snorted. “And spend the whole trip in the distasteful position of having to constantly fend him off you? I think not. He hates you even more than I do.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here with me, does he?”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Of course not.” After a while, Mairon interrupted his thoughts again. “What would it take to convince you I mean you no harm?”

“You spent far too long convincing me otherwise for that to work now.”

“I’m serious. I want you to be able to rest. Shall I ride ahead? Camp five miles from here and catch up to you tomorrow?”

“No guarantee you wouldn’t double back as soon as I’m asleep.”

Mairon hesitated, and decided to offer anyway. “You can restrain me.”

“With what? You’d burn right through any rope of mine.”

Defeated, Mairon sighed. “Would you like me to stay up and keep watch with you, then?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you stop talking.”

“I won't complain if you change your mind. Just say so.” Rolling himself up in his cloak and a thick wool blanket, Mairon tried to sleep. Maedhros woke him with a none-too-gentle foot in his ribs as the sky began to lighten. The rest of the trip did not soften Maedhros’ attitude; if anything he grew more terse and gruff. Mairon was relieved when Nienna’s house rose into view through the fog.

Maglor heard of their arrival within moments and came running. Maedhros scowled when he turned to embrace Mairon as soon as he’d released Maedhros from his arms, but he said nothing. 

“How are you? How is Celebrian? What have our brothers been up to?” Maglor glanced at Mairon. “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, but I expect to hear all about you too!” He let Maedhros pull him away. 

Mairon breathed a deep sigh once he was alone and no longer had to endure Maedhros’ steady glower.

*

“Where will we find them?” Maedhros had rested and conferred with Nienna after spending some time catching up with Maglor, and he seemed calmer and more focused. 

“They often preferred the darker corners where it’s quieter,” Mairon answered. “A lot of people disturb them. Late at night is better too, although they’d come out by day for Celebrian.”

“I’m ready to talk to them. I'll follow your lead.”

“Let's wait for midnight.” Mairon fingered the clockwork bird in his pocket. He'd used its construction for Geleth's last lesson before he left. She'd watched him assemble it avidly; then he'd had her take it apart and fit it back together until he was satisfied she understood the function of each gear and spring. It would make a good peace offering to the twins since he hadn’t brought their playmate.

Mairon chose a corridor dimly lit by the few candles that hadn’t yet burned out. He settled on the floor with Maedhros as far away as he could sit while staying within reach. It didn’t take them long to appear. Quietly Mairon held his hand out for Maedhros to take and hummed softly. Maedhros’ stifled gasp let him know he saw them too. 

The dark-haired boys jostled each other from the shadows. “The toymaker! Look, the toymaker’s back!”

Mairon ignored them. They crept closer, carefully avoiding the pools of dancing candlelight. “Toymaker! We know you see us. Is the silver girl with you?”

“No, she couldn’t come this time. She says hello, though.” Maedhros withdrew his hand but immediately put it back. _He must lack any facility for this. Not helpful._ “Oh look, there’s something in my pocket.”

They had started to turn and slink away, but this caught their full attention. “What is it? Is it for us?”

“I don’t know; it might be.”

“Please?” They came right up to him, though they shied away from Maedhros. 

Mairon smiled. “Do you still have the puppies I made you?”

“Oh, yes!” They produced their stuffed dogs, somewhat worse for wear. One had lost an eye. 

“They’re very good dogs,” said one.

“They keep watch and chase away all the spiders,” added the other.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mairon saw Maedhros wince. “Well, since you’ve taken such good care of them, I suppose I can show you this.” He had to free his hand, so Maedhros shifted closer and laid two fingertips on his shoulder. The boys leaned forward curiously as he showed them his empty hands, then with a flash of blue flames produced the little brass bird with jeweled eyes. He wound it and perched it on his finger. It stretched out its wings, flapping them slowly as it chirped a tune. They watched in delight.

“Can you make it so we can keep it?” one asked shyly. 

Mairon showed them how to wind it, and as it warbled its song he cut his palm, smearing it and the boys with a drop of blood, and poured his power into it slowly. The enchantment took more out of him than before, the metal more demanding than the fabric dogs which were already more closely aligned to living nature and spirit. He managed to hold himself upright until the boys could take it and scamper away, shouting their thanks. As soon as they were out of sight, he slumped, jerking his collar what little distance he could from his throat and gasping for air as searing pain rushed through him.

Maedhros had backed away. “That didn’t look terribly comfortable.”

“It was just a bit more sorcery than I’m really allowed. Did you see their faces, though? So worth it.”

Regarding him with an odd expression, Maedhros was silent for a while. “You didn’t let me speak.”

“Not tonight. Give them a chance to get used to you.”

“Am I going to have to touch you the whole time?”

“Could you see them when you took your hand away? That’s as much as I can do; I can only wake up the ability if it’s there. I think you’re stuck with me.”

“Figures.”

The next night the boys turned up almost immediately. “Would you tell us a story?” one asked. 

“Who’s the elf with you?” the other demanded at the same time. 

They glanced at each other, and the first nodded slightly. “Yes, why is he here? He looks scary.”

“Is it the red hair?” Mairon asked. “My hair’s red too, you know.”

The boys rolled their eyes. “You’re scary, too.”

“Scarier than he is. Just you’re the good kind of scary.”

“Oh really?” said Mairon. “What’s the good kind?”

“You know. You’re scary enough that you could frighten away anything that wanted to hurt us.”

Mairon’s smile grew sharp and wicked. The twins shivered and pressed closer to him. He let them slip under his arm.

“Yes, like that!”

“I’ll promise you something. If this scary elf tries anything you don’t like, I’ll scare him away for you. Okay?”

They nodded and relaxed a little.

“But I won't need to. He’s here because he’d like to be your friend,” Mairon continued. “Would you let him tell you a story?”

“An adventure story?” one asked.

Mairon glanced at Maedhros. “Be careful,” he said softly.

Maedhros narrowed his eyes but said nothing as he shifted to face them. They kept Mairon between them as Maedhros spoke, telling them of childhood pranks he’d pulled with his brothers, hunts for giant spiders in Nan Dungortheb, less bloody versions of raids on bands of orcs. As the night wore on, they draped themselves over Mairon’s lap, falling into a not-quite-sleep and finally fading from sight.

Nights passed pleasantly in stories and songs, Maedhros and Mairon sharing by turn. Maglor tried to join them, but the sound of his harp proved too much, and after that the boys refused to appear in his presence. Bit by bit, though, they lost their fear of Maedhros.

“Boys, I’d like to tell you something,” Maedhros began. One of them sat in Maedhros’ lap, the other in Mairon’s. “I know your names. I know who you are. Will you try not to be frightened if I say them? You were afraid of me once a long time ago, and I never meant to hurt you, but I did.”

They looked at each other and got to their feet, backing away slightly, clinging to each other. “We thought you might be him. The elf who chased us.”

“That’s right. I’m sorry. I tried to save you from the woods, but I couldn’t find you.”

“We thought you wanted to kill us.” 

“You…you were killing everyone.” Their eyes were wide, and Mairon was surprised they still listened.

“I know. It was…complicated, and I really messed up. Eluréd, Elurín, I'm so sorry. I wanted to help you, and I only made things worse. I want to help you now, if you’ll let me.”

They thought it over, whispering to each other, then turned back to him. “You haven't tried to hurt us, and the toymaker thinks you’re all right. We believe you. What is it you would do for us?”

“If you’ll let me, I’d like to take you to Mandos. He can—” 

“You will not!” Mairon cried, throwing himself in front of the boys, arms outstretched as though to take a blow for them. “You said you wanted to help them! How could you even think of that!” He was shaking. 

Maedhros raised an eyebrow. “How is this a surprise to you? What did you think I meant by ‘helping’?”

“Not that! They don’t deserve that! No one does!” Tears ran down Mairon’s face. The boys had disappeared. 

Taken aback, Maedhros started to reach out but changed his mind. “You—all that, and now you’ve scared them off. Just what do you think goes on in Mandos?”

Mairon answered hoarsely. “He bound my lord and left him alone in a tiny cell with no light and no comfort and no one to speak to. For three ages. No one deserves that. That’s torture.”

“I know it is.”

Mairon closed his eyes. How long had Maedhros hung alone on that cliff face in agony? “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, of course you know.”

Tentatively Maedhros took his hand. Mairon let him guide him to a seat. “I’m sorry your lord had to suffer that. I don’t think it was right. Whether or not he deserved it. Maybe…maybe if he hadn’t met such cruelty, he wouldn’t have been so cruel himself. I don’t believe punishment accomplishes much of anything, not…at least not when times aren’t desperate. And yes, I’m perfectly aware my actions don't always align with that.” 

He took a deep breath. “Mandos wasn’t like that for me. There wasn’t any punishment, there was only kindness and a chance to heal. Nàmo was good to me. He made sure I was with my family when I wanted them, with those I loved, that I had space to retreat to when I needed that, and I was never truly alone. He helped me learn to hope again. He showed me I didn’t have to define myself by my worst deeds.”

“He didn’t let you go.”

“He couldn’t. Not until—”

“Until Maglor was given the Silmaril,” Mairon finished when Maedhros cut himself off.

“He told you, hmm? Well. Our oath bound us beyond mercy. That wasn’t Nàmo’s fault.”

“He still holds your father.”

“Yes.” Maedhros leaned his head back and stared bleakly at the vaulted ceiling. “That’s his fate, and Nàmo can’t change that either. Please don’t hold that against him. I don’t. Please believe me; he will care for those boys more kindly and more truly than you can imagine.”

Mairon searched his face, but Maedhros gave no hint of a lie. Finally he nodded. “All right. I trust you. I won’t stop you.”

“Thank you. I…” He sighed. “I would never have thought you’d defend them like that. You looked ready to die for them.”

Mairon pulled his knees to his chest and said nothing.

Maedhros clapped him on the shoulder in a gesture that was surely meant to be reassuring. “I’m off to bed. Tell them I’m sorry about the shouting if you see them again tonight.”

“I was the one shouting,” Mairon mumbled. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m still sorry.”

Mairon wavered, but eventually he made his way to Nienna’s tower room. Thunder rumbled far out to sea. She looked dark and diaphanous, lost in the storm’s fury. “My lady?”

Nienna turned to him and held out her arms. “Come, dear one. What’s on your heart tonight?”

He sat at her feet and leaned against her as he did so often with his lord, craving the feeling of someone stronger taking care of him. “Is it true that Mandos shows only kindness to everyone but my lord?”

“He…gives to each fëa what they need. Sometimes his kindness may seem stern or rough, but it is kindness in the end.”

“But not for Melkor.”

“No. I’m so sorry.”

Mairon wept in Nienna’s arms, and it was little comfort that her Song of sorrow spread wide enough to enfold his pain and Melkor’s.


	19. Connections

The next night, Nienna went with Maedhros, hoping to find the twins. Mairon couldn’t bring himself to join them. He sat by a roaring fire in the kitchen while Maglor tried to distract him from thoughts of what was happening. He barely heard a word. Bitter cold hit him like a blade of ice through his chest. 

“Námo’s here,” Mairon whispered, curling into himself as if anything could hide him should Námo turn his mind toward him. “Can't you feel him?”

“Like a chill wind blowing off the Helcáraxë.” They held each other until the Vala's shadow passed. 

“If he forced them…if he didn't make sure they wanted it…”

“Nienna shelters everyone in her care,” Maglor assured him softly. “She would never let him take anyone who didn’t choose him. Why do you think they were here so long? She doesn't push anyone to leave, not for the rest of the world and certainly not for Mandos.” He studied Mairon. “You didn't want them to be stuck here forever, reduced to mere shades of themselves, lost to anyone who loved them? That's no kind of existence.”

Mairon shook his head. “I just don't want them to suffer."

Maedhros appeared after a while. He sat on the hearth and slumped against Maglor, who passed him a mug of hot tea. He sipped it slowly, cupping it to his chest as if desperate for warmth. “Mairon, I know you were worrying. I spoke to Eluréd and Elurín before Nienna invited Námo here. I told them about the Halls, about my time there. I told them I’d met their mother and that she hoped to see them again. They chose to go. Some others went with them too—I hadn’t seen them before, but they listened to what I said.”

“Is it true?” Mairon asked. “About their mother?”

Anger flashed in Maedhros’ grey eyes, but he paused, and when he spoke his voice was gentle. “Nimloth. Yes. We talked a long time. We saw their deaths woven in the tapestries—she made sure that I saw—and it pained her that they never appeared in the Halls. She said she would wait for them, however long it took them to find the way.” He hid his face in his left hand. “That was my fault too. I called for them, and they were afraid, and they ran. And when they died—Námo called to them, and they were afraid.” His shoulders began to shake. “Why did we think we had to do that? We knew there were children in Doriath, innocents, people who never thought to raise a hand against us. We should have let the Oath dash us against Angband until we broke. We should all have had the decency to die at its gates. Why… _children_?!” 

Maglor pulled him against his chest. His face was grim, and tears stood in his eyes as well. Mairon could see he wasn’t wanted, and he quietly took his leave. _And still it all comes back to me and my lord,_ he thought as he lay sleepless. _If he hadn’t taken the Silmarils…if he hadn’t kept them…if I hadn’t let Lúthien escape with the one they fought for…_ Gnawing regret chased him into his dreams, and his scant rest was filled with visions of Huan’s teeth.

*

Mairon was in the stables, brushing his horse and plaiting little braids into her mane, preparing to leave but not overly eager. He’d promised Melkor not to linger, and he had his students to return to, but part of him saw a deep attraction in simply staying and letting everyone else go on without him. He doubted he’d be much missed. 

“I was afraid you’d left already.”

Mairon flinched. Maedhros leaned on the stall partition, looking considerably better than last night. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he continued. “You’ve done a great thing for your little friends, and you’ve helped me lay to rest a misdeed I long have grieved.”

It would be easier if Maedhros stuck to anger, Mairon decided. This was distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m glad I could be of use.”

Maedhros looked thoughtful, but he said only, “Safe travels,” and started to walk away. “Take Celebrian out to lunch or something, would you?” he said, turning back. “She talks about you too much for anyone’s comfort.”

At that, Mairon smiled. “Thanks. I will.”

*

When Mairon walked into his and Melkor’s rooms and tossed down his bag, he was surprised to find Geleth there, laughing and chatting with Melkor. More surprising still, Melkor was smiling in return.

“Mairon! You’re home!” Geleth jumped up to greet him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’ve just been popping in to ask when you’d be back, and Lord Melkor’s been telling me about gem cutting.”

Mairon raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

“Well, I suppose I should get out of your way…I know _someone’s_ been missed.” She bowed deeply to Melkor. “I’ll come see you again soon, if that’s all right!”

“Of course, my dear.” 

Mairon followed her into the hall. 

“Lesson tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes. I just…why? Really?”

“I did stop by to ask about you, the first time, and we got to talking. He knows so much, and…well, he seemed so lonely. I might’ve hated him once, but—I couldn’t when I saw that. Not when he’s only been kind to me. He offered to teach me about gems, and I know you said we’d get to that, but…if you don’t mind, I’d like to learn from him.”

“I think that would be good.”

She smiled, and bowed, and walked away whistling a cheerful tune.

Melkor came to him and took him carefully in his arms, holding him close and burying his face in Mairon’s hair. “I’m glad to have you back. Every time I wonder if I’ll ever see you again.”

Mairon grasped his neck and pulled him down for a deep kiss, hoping that was clear enough an answer. 

“I heard something I found interesting.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a rumor that's passed about you—it is said ‘into this ring he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life.’ I thought perhaps…this is why you feel as you do, now that it’s been destroyed. And perhaps…with time—”

Mairon glared. “You should know better than to imagine that’s how the making of the ring worked. As if I could choose bits to split off from my ëala! Tell me, my lord, did you pour your cruelty and malice into the smoke of Thangorodrim?”

Melkor had the grace to look sheepish. “Metaphorically?”

“Well? Did you lose it when Thangorodrim fell?”

“Fine, forget I mentioned it. I only thought—”

“You thought you’d like me better if you could change me back.” Mairon grew more furious the longer he considered it.

“That’s not—” 

“Don’t lie to me. That’s exactly why you brought it up. And I’ll have you know, even if all I had to do to get those feelings back was to walk through this door, I wouldn’t do it. I don’t want to be that way ever again. If I did have the fortune to get rid of that self by the ring’s destruction, then the day I lost was the best day of my life.”

“Better than the day I brought you home?” Melkor asked softly. Mairon knew he spoke of Utumno.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

But Melkor had already turned and gone, his long black robes trailing behind him.

*

Mairon stepped into the forge and froze. Celebrimbor was drawing diagrams on a chalkboard, flipping through his stack of notes as he sketched. He looked up, and his eyes widened at the sight of Mairon.

“I’m sorry,” Mairon croaked. Mortification drained the color from his face, and his voice didn’t want to work. “I forgot to tell you I was back. I swear it wasn’t on purpose.” He’d been too consumed with his argument to think of anything but Melkor.

“Don’t swear,” Celebrimbor said mildly.

“Do you want…should I go, or shall I teach and you can leave?”

Celebrimbor laid down the chalk and studied him. “First of all, I want you to stop looking at me like I’m about to attack you or something. Everything's all right. Second—I have to say, when I first spoke to you I fully expected to have you hounding my every step. And you haven’t. I appreciate that.”

“You said you didn’t want to see me. I’m just trying to do what you want.”

“Even so. Why don’t you stay, and we’ll teach together? I’d actually wanted to talk to you about that—about staying on. Eight students is a lot when they’re all wanting to go off in different directions already, and I’m very much enjoying teaching again.”

“You would do that?”

“Sure. And…honestly? I’ve missed you. Annatar. What we had…before.”

“I missed you too,” Mairon whispered, awestruck.

“Just—let’s keep things professional.”

Mairon nodded. “Whatever you want. It’s completely up to you.” _I'm happy to be near you any way you'll have me,_ he thought, but he kept that to himself. 

That evening, the class was learning to make their own tools. They shaped punches and chisels and listened to Celebrimbor’s explanation of the science behind tempering a cutting edge. Celebrimbor had already picked up some sign language and was working hard to sign as he spoke. Mairon stepped in to translate when needed, but not as often as he’d thought he might. If he’d forgotten any of the little things he’d loved about the smith, he remembered them now, watching Celebrimbor’s gentle humor and the ease with which he broke down complicated ideas into perfect clarity. He wished he could keep his company all night, instead of going home to Melkor's stony silence and insistence on leaving whatever room Mairon entered.

Finally all the students were gone, even Dregor, who had hung behind to talk at length about the next project he wanted to attempt. Celebrimbor bade Mairon goodnight, and then he could put it off no longer. Reluctantly he made his way back to his rooms. Melkor wasn’t inside. Mairon found him in the garden, sitting in a tree on a massive low limb. He gave no acknowledgement of Mairon's presence, but he didn't run him off either. Mairon settled on his knees below his lord.

“I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“It was a foolish idea anyway.” Melkor stared up at the stars. “I know there isn't any going back. Not really. So what's the point? It would only be harder on you if it could be fixed.”

Mairon sighed. “I don't need to be fixed.” He said it softly, but he refused to let it go.

“Come sit with me. There’s room.”

It took some careful maneuvering, but Mairon joined him on the branch. “Do you really even want to go back?” he asked. “Were you happy in Angband? I never thought you were, not truly.”

Melkor shook his head. “But before…”

“How far back?”

“I was happy when I had you.”

“Surely cruelty isn’t what drew you to me in Almaren.”

“It was the fire inside you,” Melkor murmured. 

“That, I believe, is still there.” 

Melkor glanced at him thoughtfully.

Drawing a deep breath, Mairon barreled on. “It didn’t feel like you cared very much for me earlier.” He couldn’t recall ever baring himself so boldly; he’d always accepted whatever Melkor was willing to give him without complaint. This newly awakened streak of stubbornness frightened him a little. 

Melkor tightened his arm around Mairon. “I didn’t think…that’s not what I meant. I wanted to help. I didn’t mean to imply that I loved you any less. I don't."

“That isn’t help to me, though.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“What I’ve already told you I want?”

“Do you realize what that means? Surrendering every scrap of pride I have left to bow at their feet?” 

“I don’t think those are the only two options. Bowing to them or fighting them. Can’t we just…co-exist?”

“We’re not co-existing right now.” Melkor traced his own collar with one finger, and Mairon remembered how much more he had than Melkor. And he wasn’t free either.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m enduring it as well as I can. That’s how much I do care.”

Mairon shivered, thinking of what Melkor had already accepted for his sake. “I’ll do whatever I can to see that you don’t regret it.”


	20. Celegorm

Mairon walked back from the library, his arms full of books and his mind full of plans for his new blacksmiths. He and Celebrimbor had both spent so much more time on complex work that neither was sure of the best order to teach technique to beginners. To figure it out, Mairon had bit back his pride and dug out several manuals for apprentices, to see how they approached things, and a couple of volumes of educational theory. In Eregion he had gotten used to the luxury of consulting books for any knowledge he wanted. The vast library of the Gwaith-i-mírdain had been the first thing he'd grudgingly preferred over Angband, where any written information had come from his own hand or Melkor's. It felt good to renew the habit.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the elf lounging outside his door. Celegorm leapt to his feet at Mairon’s approach. He held a fluffy grey pup in his arms—a wolf pup, Mairon realized as he warily drew near. The memory of their last meeting and Celegorm’s palm across his cheek was vivid, but Celegorm didn’t look angry, and Huan was nowhere to be seen.

“Hallo, Mairon!” His cheerful greeting felt decidedly strange. “I’ve brought you someone.” He barged forward without waiting for a reply. “A thank-you gift. For what you did for Maedhros. And for me. That whole incident with the twins was really my fault. I mean, I was already dead, but it was my people who dragged them out and abandoned them. And I must have made them think I was the kind of person who would want that, you know? So. You’ve done me a huge favor.” He held out the wolf cub. “Here. He’s for you.”

Mairon set down his books and gently gathered him into his arms. He buried his face in soft fuzz, breathing in puppy smell for the first time in millennia.

“I found him on my last hunt. He was orphaned, so really you’re helping him out, too. Umm…you don’t have to take him if you don’t want; I didn’t mean to sound like I was trying to foist him on you. I just thought…you must have loved your wolves; you don’t get that kind of loyalty from animals if you don’t. And I know how hard it is to lose so dear a companion. Ahh…it occurs to me I didn’t really think through the political implications. If it’s too inappropriate…or presumptuous…”

Blinking away the wetness from the corners of his eyes, Mairon looked up. Celegorm combed his fingers anxiously through braids hung with feathers and bits of bone. “He’s perfect. I couldn’t have asked for anything nicer.” He thought he should say something more, but he couldn’t resist kissing the puppy’s head, nibbling his ears and telling him what a good, brave boy he would grow to be. When he glanced up again, Celegorm was staring in surprise.

- _You speak wolf?!_ -

It took Mairon a moment to realize they’d left Quenya behind. - _Of course._ -

- _Right. Lord of wolves. Sorry._ -

The puppy was squirming, restless and wanting down, and Mairon had liked that hint of unexpected delight in Celegorm’s eyes better than the embarrassment creeping back in. Biting his lip, he made up his mind. “Come inside for a bit? He likes you. He’ll be happier having someone familiar nearby at first.”

He pushed open the door and glanced around. Thankfully Melkor was out. Celegorm hesitantly followed him. Mairon let the puppy down, and they sat and watched as he ran around the room, excitedly sniffing every corner. After exploring to his satisfaction, he wandered back to play and tussle with them until he wore himself out and fell asleep. They lay on the floor with the puppy between them. Mairon dug his fingers into his thick fur.

“What do you think you’ll name him?” Celegorm asked.

“I don’t know. I suppose it’ll have to be a sunshine-and-flowers sort of name if I don’t want to start a riot in the streets of Tirion.”

Celegorm snorted. “That’s easier than you might think. Starting a riot. I wouldn’t bother trying to appease the crowds. They’re rabid no matter what you do.”

“Oh? Have you done it before?”

“I might have stories to tell.” Celegorm didn’t elaborate. “Sereglin,” he suggested after a moment’s thought.

“Blood-song? Were you not listening? It won't do.”

“He’s a wolf. He deserves a wolfy name.”

“No blood and no violence. I really can’t afford that risk.”

“Okay, okay. Gaurion?”

“Remind me why I should take the advice of a man who named his dog Dog?”

“That’s a perfectly good name. Huan’s never been ashamed of it.”

Mairon shuddered and fell silent. The easy banter he’d fallen into suddenly seemed less innocent. How could he lie here and casually chat about the stuff of his nightmares? 

Celegorm seemed not to notice his lapse. “Rándil?”

“Mmm…actually, I like that.” Mairon stroked the puppy’s silky ears and struggled to regain his composure. “Rándil…what do you think, little one?” The puppy snuffled in his sleep, and they both laughed.

“I’d like to take you and him hunting with me when he’s older. It’ll be good for him. He deserves that—a chance to get out in the woods and run free.”

Mairon thought it might be good for him to run free in the woods a while too, but he knew what hunting with Celegorm would mean. “I appreciate the offer, but…I can’t. Not with—” He bit off the name and searched for an excuse.

“Mairon? Are you afraid of my dog?” Celegorm asked lightly, with a hint of teasing in his voice, but he paused at Mairon’s tiny flinch. “I didn’t realize…I knew you didn’t like him much; that’s why I didn’t bring him today, but on a hunt...that complicates things…hmm. I guess I could leave him at home…do you think you’d be willing to try meeting him? Just for a bit?”

“I…maybe. Won’t he hurt the little wolf?”

“That wolf has followed Huan around and slept curled against him for the last three days. Huan knows he’s a baby, and when he’s grown, he’ll know he’s a friend.” Celegorm watched him thoughtfully. “You know…seeing you right now, you remind me of Maedhros when he’s talking about you. His mind knows you’re probably safe, but his body is quivering to run or fight.”

Mairon had understood Maedhros’ loathing of him in theory, but he hadn’t grasped so viscerally how it felt until now. He didn’t know if he could make a long trip with only Huan for a companion. But then, he didn’t think he could withstand what Maedhros had at his hands. “Maedhros is braver than I am. But I’ll give it a try. For the puppy’s sake.”

A shadow stole Celegorm’s easy grin as soon as it appeared. Mairon glanced over his shoulder. Melkor stood in the doorway, looking over the three of them curiously.

“And I’ll just be on my way.” Celegorm jumped up. “Keep in touch, yeah? I have a bunch of questions about wolves I want to ask you…umm, next time. And I want to see how Rándil grows. Don’t forget about that hunt!”

“I didn’t mean to scare him away,” Melkor huffed, dropping to the floor to sit with Mairon.

“Shall I try to introduce you next time?”

“I just don’t get why everyone’s happy to be friendly to you when they won’t even meet my eyes.”

Mairon could think of several reasons, but none he wanted to share.

Melkor poked gently at the sleeping wolf pup. “He’s not sharing the bed with us. I want that clear up front.”

“But he’s just a baby. He’ll be lonesome.”

“That’s what you said about Draugluin, and what did that get me? Centuries of waking up with a wolf on my chest. No.” 

“He only did that because he liked you,” Mairon grumbled. The puppy stretched and yawned but didn’t wake, despite Melkor inspecting the size of his feet. 

“I don’t think this one will be as large.”

“All the more reason to let him in the bed.”

“Does that pout get you your way so often, little flame?” Melkor leaned forward and kissed him. “I’d hate to think that I encouraged it…” He bit down on Mairon’s lip, and Mairon whimpered and crept nearer. “That’s better. Now, what will you need for him? Bowls, toys, his own bed…what else? He’s quite small; will we have to find him milk?”

 _So it’s ‘we’ already?_ Mairon smiled and followed Melkor to prepare for their new addition.

*

Tirion in the first breath of spring was beautiful, fragrant with delicate plum blossoms and snowdrops. Mairon hesitated outside Maedhros’ door. He had waited until Maedhros returned home from Nienna’s house and his visit with Maglor, not wanting to face an angry Fingon alone, and he’d written to Celebrian to expect him, but still his nerves kept him on edge. Celebrian opened the door when he knocked. She looked happy and full of energy. Her hair was short, spiky, and bright blue.

“Mairon! You did come. And you brought Rándil; he’s so cute!”

“I said I would. Whatever have you done with your hair?”

She grinned. “Maedhros says my hair belongs to me and I can do whatever the hell I want with it, and if anyone gives me trouble I should tell them to go fuck themselves.”

“Language!” Maedhros shouted from within.

“Those were your exact words!” she shouted back. 

“For the record, I like it. It looks good on you.”

“I know it does. Where shall we go? I’d show you the garden, but both dads are home, so out it is. My favorite teahouse isn’t far.”

“Let’s go there.”

It was a cozy little place, full of warm sweet smells, decorated with images of bees and honeycomb. Celebrian ordered for them both, and soon a steaming pot of rose-scented tea and a tiered platter of cakes and sandwiches was set before them. Mairon had worried that town would be overwhelming for Rándil, but he settled at Mairon’s feet as soon as he was convinced that no treats were forthcoming. Celebrian kept reaching down to pet him.

“Are you really going to take him hunting with Celegorm like you wrote? I’ve met him a few times. He seems so…big and wild. He’s almost frightening at times, but I kind of like him too, if you know what I mean. I want to come along if you do go.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Will you talk to him for me, then? I asked and he said I wasn’t old enough.”

“Don’t you go hunting and hawking with Fingon and Maedhros all the time? I don’t see how different it could be.”

“I get the feeling their version of hunting is more…staid.”

“Ah, so I'm to be the bad influence, then?”

She smirked. “You're already the bad influence. I might as well take advantage.”

Mairon laughed. “I’ll talk to him, but it won’t be soon.”

“I know. I wish you could come hawking with us; it’s so much fun.”

“Hawks and I…we don’t get along so well. They’re kind of Manwë’s thing.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh. Right. Wait, so you’ve never tried it?” A flurry of stories followed, about her gyrfalcon and the ducks and hares that got away, as well as those that ended up on the table. Mairon told her of long ago hunts when his wolf pack had brought down fell beasts with leathery hides and teeth like sabers. They had just started on their second pot of tea when a young ellon approached with a swagger and a too-long knife strapped to his belt. 

“Hey look, it’s that weird Fëanorian chick!”

Celebrian scowled. He seemed to have two or three others with him. 

“And check out her little friend! I believe it's Sauron himself! Trash attracts trash, I guess. The house of Fëanor never did get itself straightened out.”

Celebrian stood and crossed her arms, eyes flashing. “Have you got a problem with me?” 

_How do they know who I am?!_ Mairon scanned the room for the quickest exits.

“Yeah, I have a problem. You hang out with those kinslayers. Hell, maybe you’re one, too.”

“Take it back. You don’t talk about my family that way.” 

Mairon stood quietly, wrapping himself in shadow to avoid notice, and touched her sleeve. “Come on. Let’s slip out. You don’t want a fight.”

She shrugged him off. “What if I do? Stay out of it. I don't want you in trouble.”

“Kinslayers, kinslayers, kinslayers! That’s what they are.” The boy finished his jeers by spitting at her feet. His friends drew closer.

“Take it back!”

Mairon was reasonably sure Celebrian punched first. She held her own for a solid minute before the other two joined the fray. He stepped in when he saw the glint of steel. With a quick blow, he stunned the boy’s wrist and forced him to drop the knife. Catching Celebrian by the collar of her gown, he hauled her out into the street, Rándil trotting at his heels.

She glared at him when he let her go. Blood streamed from her nose. “What’d you have to go and do that for?! I had them!”

“You made a good start, but you couldn’t win outnumbered. They knew that, and you need to know it too. What were you going to do about the knife?”

She lowered her gaze. “They don’t usually draw them when they do have them.”

“Usually? Are you doing this a lot?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“Okay. Are people bothering you a lot?”

“I…It isn’t fair. Maedhros and Fingon have paid for what they did. Repeatedly. It isn’t right to still hold that over their heads!”

 _It especially isn’t right to hold it over yours,_ he thought to himself. “It’s not fair, but grudges as strong as that don't go away easily. They get passed along for generations. Those boys have never felt pain or desperation; how are they going to ignore what they're told and have pity on those who were trapped in an impossible position?” 

“Don’t excuse them!” she snarled. “If they don’t understand pain, I’ll show them what it is!”

“You do not want to walk down that road.” The cold seriousness with which he spoke drew her eyes to his. She held his gaze for a long moment, then burst into tears. Mairon held her, and when she’d stopped crying so hard, he found a roadside bench and helped her sit.

“Please don’t tell Maedhros. He hates when I fight.”

“Sweetheart, you have blood all over your face and your dress. He’s going to know.”

“Can’t you make it go away?”

“You’ll have to get your nose to stop bleeding. I’m not much of a healer without my materials; I won’t be able to do anything about the bruises you’ll have tomorrow. I can probably get your dress clean, but that’ll be it.”

“I can manage with that.” She looked at him hopefully.

“Before I do, I want you to promise me two things.”

She tossed her head. “We don’t promise in this house. Umm…what are they?”

“At least try to walk away when someone tries to start something.”

“Ugh. You sound like them. Fine. What’s the other?”

“We’re going to get Celegorm to teach you how to fight in a street brawl. I want to know that when you do go up three to one, you’re going to win.”

“Now that, I like,” she grinned. She washed her face in a fountain, and Mairon sang her dress spotless and dry. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

*

Mairon flopped down on the softest chair in their sitting room with a loud groan after returning Celebrian home. Then he noticed Melkor and Geleth at the writing desk with their heads together, deep in conversation. Melkor looked up, frowning, and laid a finger to his lips.

“So these have to be equal to each other, and then this has to be equal too, Q.E.D.!” Geleth finished triumphantly.

Mairon peered over their shoulders. A neatly drawn geometrical figure lay on the desk, covered with scribbled notes. “What are you working on? This doesn’t look like gem cutting.”

“There’s a lot to cover before we get there,” Melkor said. “Maths, alchemy, song theory, properties of crystalline structures, the behavior of refracted light...”

“All of that will make a lot more sense once she has some actual experience with jewels. Don’t you think you should train her hands first?”

“What’s the point of that until she understands the theory behind what she’s trying to accomplish?”

“But—”

“No. You teach your way, and I’ll teach mine.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Geleth protested. “Mairon, I’m perfectly capable of saying so if I want to go about things differently.”

“You’re right; I’m sorry. Are you finished? Do you mind if I watch?”

“I don’t mind,” Geleth said.

“As long as you don’t butt in,” Melkor added.

They worked through several more proofs before calling it a day. When she had gone, Melkor pulled him to a big chair and tugged him into his arms. Mairon slowly relaxed against his master’s chest.

“You seemed upset when you came home, little flame. What’s wrong?”

Mairon told him about Celebrian’s fight. Melkor gently stroked his hair. “You don’t want my advice. I would have ended things with a lot more blood if someone had been harassing one of mine.”

Mairon grimaced. “I wanted to.”

“I’m sure you did what was best.”

“I hope so.” Mairon sighed. “How is Geleth coming along?” He worried Melkor would lose interest soon and disappoint her, but there was a lot she could gain in the meantime.

“You were lucky to find her. She has a quick mind, and she’s determined to get what she wants. She’s learning fast. I quite like her.”

Mairon raised his head. The opposite problem hadn’t occurred to him. “I’m not going to have another Fëanor situation on my hands, am I? I won’t be happy about it.”

Melkor rolled his eyes. “There has only ever been one Fëanor. She’s worth my while to teach; I find it entertaining. I’m not going to go out and ruin her life. She hasn’t done anything to deserve that.”

 _And Fëanor did, I suppose?_ Melkor had never explained exactly what had happened between him and Fëanor, but Mairon felt a twinge of jealousy at the tone underlying the rage whenever Melkor spoke his name. “I’m glad you think so highly of her, then. She'll be a great smith one day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaurion = son of a wolf. Celegorm is totally pulling a Huan with this one.
> 
> Rándil = lover of the moon


	21. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning--this chapter contains some graphic depictions of torture.

"MAIRON! Get in here!” 

Groaning, he obeyed. Melkor sounded angry, and that was never to be trifled with. 

“Your wolf ate my best boots!” Melkor dangled the offended leather in Mairon’s face. 

Mairon narrowed his eyes as he took them. “He didn’t eat them, he only…gnawed a little.” It was more than a little; tiny teeth marks covered the leather, and in places it was shredded through. “Aren’t these the ones I made? I’ll make you a new pair just like them.”

“I’m about to leave. Can you do that in the next hour?”

“You know I can’t.”

“Then your wolf has inconvenienced me, and I’m not happy about it.”

“You have other boots.”

“I don’t like those.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s a puppy. He’s going to chew things; they all go through this phase. In the meantime you should keep your things off the floor.”

Melkor scowled and finished packing with a huff, shoving things violently into his bag.

After watching a moment, Mairon sighed and put his arms around his lord. “Hey. I really am sorry. I’ll have new ones ready when you get back.”

“I know you will. I know he can’t help it. I know. I just…I truly hate this trip.”

“Is Lórien so awful, my love?”

“I don’t mind Lórien. Even Irmo isn’t as I remembered. They’ve been kind and not judgmental at all. I can’t speak badly of them. That part isn’t pleasant, but it’s bearable, and it does help me. It’s riding there and back I can’t stand.”

 _Under the careful watch of Aulë’s guards,_ Mairon recalled. 

Turning around, Melkor returned Mairon’s embrace. “Remind me why I’m doing this?” Before Mairon could answer, he captured him in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. Mairon moaned into his mouth and pressed his body to Melkor’s. His teeth on Mairon’s lips drew blood, and Mairon wished he never had to let go. When they finally came up for air, Melkor pushed Mairon’s head against his chest and held him there as long as he could.

Mairon could see why Melkor despised it so much whenever he had to leave. The place felt empty and desolate without him, and he at least had an evening with Celebrimbor and their students to look forward to. He spent a frustrating afternoon in the library. The only thing he accomplished was tracking down a book for a hapless elf who could only vaguely recall the subject matter, but was very certain that the cover was green. As soon as he could reasonably get away, he fed Rándil and let him out for a run in the garden while he changed into his forge clothes.

Stepping into the forge was beginning to feel like coming home again. Mairon and Celebrimbor had planned no lecture today; the class was grappling with forge welding, and they wouldn’t be moving on until they’d mastered it. The students arrived with varied expressions of determination and lit their fires.

“Mairon, could you help me? I can’t get this to stick for anything!”

He walked over to Embrethil’s side. “Show me what you’re doing.” 

She heated and touched up the ends she was trying to join where they’d gotten misshaped in her previous attempt. 

“The fit looks good,” Mairon pronounced, checking how the iron overlapped. “Go for the weld again.”

He watched in silence as she built up the fire and thrust the pieces into its heart. As they began to glow, she coated them in flux. Her eyes kept darting to Mairon, but he said nothing until she started to withdraw them.

“Wait, not yet. Is this when you took them before?”

She nodded.

“Watch.” They gazed into the fire together. “There. See how the surface is turning glassy? They should be almost white-hot. Give it a moment…now. Strike, and strike hard.” He held the lower piece upon the anvil for her. She aligned the top piece and hit. Sparks burst from her hammer.

“Again. Harder.”

She kept at it, and soon he lifted the iron and turned it one way and another. “See that? It’s fully bonded. Next time, be patient; don’t fear the heat.” He moved back toward the front of the room, looking in on each person along the way. Reaching for his water, he took a long swallow, appreciating its coolness. Celebrimbor was explaining something to Luinnir. Mairon let his eyes linger on Celebrimbor’s muscled form, on the sweat glistening on his brow. 

As he raised his hammer and brought it down, the setting sun lit up his body. Its rays flickered red and baleful on his bare arms, and for a moment, Mairon saw blood dripping from a hundred cuts he’d inflicted. His heart raced; his lungs refused to fill. The world seemed to spin. 

“Annatar? Mairon!” Tyelpë was suddenly beside him. When had he moved? “Are you all right?”

 _No, I hurt you, and it will never be all right._ He tried to speak, but no sound came out.

“You look awfully pale. Go sit down, I’ve got everything in hand.”

Mairon nodded shakily and stumbled over to a quieter corner. He collapsed against the wall, hiding behind a treadle hammer. His body trembled uncontrollably. The sight of blood wouldn’t go away; he thought he could smell it flooding the room. Enough to drown in. Maybe that was why he couldn’t breathe. Vaguely he was aware of someone approaching, a glass of water being held out to him. Dregor. That much he could tell. He sat beside Mairon, taking care to give him space. _Or maybe just unwilling to risk touching a monster,_ Mairon thought bitterly. He accepted the water anyway, though his hands shook and splashed it when he tried to take a sip. 

“Bad memories?” Dregor signed.

Mairon nodded.

“Thought that’s what it looked like. You get this often? You used to it?”

He shook his head. 

“It’s okay. Happens to a lot of us. It’s the weird little things that tend to snag you. Like snares in a wood. You don’t even know they’re there half the time until you’re on them. Smell of musty damp stone for me. Puts me back in those Angband tunnels every time.”

“I’m sorry,” Mairon signed with trembling fingers. “What do you do?”

“Stay out of cellars, mostly.” He shrugged. “You figure out what’ll set you off eventually, and you learn to avoid it or to approach it with care.”

Mairon laid his forehead on his knees. Was that to be his fate, then? To give up ever being near Tyelpë, despite Tyelpë’s willingness?

Dregor waved to get his attention again. “It does get better with time.”

The amount of time it might take to wipe his mind clean of those images seemed boundless. An aching loneliness settled over him, and he remembered that Melkor and the warmth of his arms were far away. Hesitantly he raised his hands. “Do you think…would you maybe…just…put a hand on my back?” _Of course he won’t, you idiot, think what he suffered because of you!_ But a comforting weight settled on him.

“Is that really all you want?” Dregor signed one-handed, warmth in every gesture. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I…” Mairon closed his eyes, prepared to be pushed away, and curled into a tiny ball, leaning toward Dregor’s chest. He wrapped an arm around Mairon and held him as he slowly stopped shaking. 

“I’m sorry,” Mairon signed. “I’m taking up your class time; you don’t have to do this for me.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll make it up to me later. We’ve all been there; it’s fine.”

Mairon nodded and closed his eyes again. When he felt steadier, he sent Dregor back to his anvil, but he didn’t try to stand yet; he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him. Celebrimbor came over once everyone had gone and dropped to one knee a few feet away. 

“What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine now. It was just the heat.”

“Well that’s a nice lie.” Even upset as he was, Mairon couldn't miss the gentle teasing with which Tyelpë spoke. “I’ve never known heat to bother you, a fire Maia, before.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right. You don’t have to. But if there’s something I need to be aware of…I’m worried about you, okay? I’ve never known you to be ill or unwell in any way, and…I’m worried.”

Mairon didn’t meet his eyes. He thought about telling him, but admitting to that…it felt too much like asking for pity he didn’t deserve and didn’t want anyway. Settling on part of the truth, he searched for words. “I’m not entirely well.” He realized it was the first time he'd said it so plainly, even to himself. “I haven’t been since I took on this new life here. Or…maybe much earlier. I don’t know. It’s the fruit of my old deeds, and it’s not your burden to worry about or concern yourself with.” 

Celebrimbor looked him over. “I’m allowed to be concerned about my friends.”

“Am I that?” Mairon asked almost too softly to be heard.

“You are. And I’m here if there’s anything I can do to help. Or if you ever want to talk about it.”

“If I ever want to talk about it, I’ll let you know.”

*

The bed was cold and far too big without anyone to share it. Mairon huddled on one side, unable to get warm enough. His thoughts kept going back to the blood running down Tyelpë’s arms. It had looked so real… He tried to pull himself together. He'd been a master of illusions once; he shouldn't be so easily deceived. He should be above this. But shame didn't help, and neither did seeking to block the memory out. Angry tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. He hated feeling so helpless. 

A small warm body pressed against his shoulder, and he felt a tongue on his cheek. _-Sad?-_ Rándil had climbed into bed with him. Mairon held up the covers, and he crawled under, tail wagging.

 _-Yes, sad.-_ Mairon softly answered. _-Please stay?-_

Rándil's tail thumped, and he snuggled closer. With a fluffy pup in his arms, Mairon began to relax. His breathing slowed, and he finally managed to sleep. He immediately wished he hadn’t. 

Tyelpë hung in chains against the wall before him, his head slumped and his weight on his wrists. His shoulders were obviously dislocated; he had to be in agony already. Mairon wanted nothing more than to let him down and force his shoulders back into place; that would hurt him too, but then he could curse Mairon’s name and begin to heal. Instead he watched in horror as his hand reached out and caressed Tyelpë’s cheek.

“Wake up, my dear.” His mouth said the words though he screamed against them. He knew too well what came next. 

Tyelpë stirred, moaning as pain returned with his consciousness. “Annatar?” The soft confusion in his eyes as he sought to recall what was happening twisted something deep inside Mairon. He couldn’t look away or close his eyes. The him that was not him smiled slowly, cruelly. “Oh,” Tyelpë sighed. “Back to this, then. I’m ready.”

“You say that, and yet you never are.” Annatar unhooked Tyelpë’s shackles, jerking his arms behind his back and shoving him forward. Tyelpë howled as his joints were pulled in directions they were never meant to go. Annatar dragged him to a table and fastened his wrists down. A jeweler’s saw and several sets of tweezers were neatly arranged before him. Soldering coppers lay discarded nearby on the floor. Annatar had given up on them early; Tyelpë had been a smith all his life, and burns were too easy. As he watched himself check the tautness of the saw blade, Mairon realized what day this was. He reached for Tyelpë’s little finger and sliced carefully through the base of the nail. 

_Nonono, not this not this not this!_

“You know you can stop me at any time,” Annatar said gently. He’d repeated that line often by now. “You just have to tell me where the rings are.” He took a pair of tweezers and began peeling the nail away with excruciating slowness. “I really don’t want to do this to you; you’re hurting us both.”

Tyelpë had never held back his screams, and he didn't now. He fought for breath to speak. “You can choose to stop. You can choose not to do this. I know you can. It’ll be all right.” His eyes were full of sorrow, and Mairon saw what he’d ignored at the time—so much of that sorrow was for Annatar and what he was losing in ruining Tyelpë.

Mairon snapped. He struggled against his arms, his hands, tried to fling his body away, but it was no good. He cut through the next nail and tugged it off, then the next, and nothing he did could change it. _No! I want to wake up! Let me go! Irmo, do you hear me? Let me go, letmegoLETMEGO!!!_ But he didn’t wake. He tortured Tyelpë for what felt like hours, moving inexorably even as he fought, until the sun touched his face and he found himself on his bed, howling and sobbing and shaking. Rándil cowered in fright across the room. 

That day and the next faded into a blur. Mairon didn’t know how he got through them. A bone-deep weariness hung over him like an intimate cloud, and though he did anything he could think of to stay awake, he kept lapsing into sleep whenever he sat still too long. Every time he found himself back in that workshop in Ost-in-Edhil, screaming for it to stop while he tore Celebrimbor apart. 

He was inexpressibly glad to see Melkor again. He rushed toward his arms, but something in the way Melkor held himself as he took off his cloak gave Mairon pause. “Your hands are hurting. Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve been helping all this time…”

Melkor glanced at him. Dark circles stood under his eyes, and Mairon wondered suddenly how bad he looked himself. “They don’t bother me much usually. I mean, they hurt; they always hurt, but it’s not enough to fool with. Just…I’m always wrung out when Irmo’s done. All of me is tired and hurting.”

“I’ll go mix something up for you.” Serving Melkor like this was easy and instinctive, and Mairon was grateful for the momentary reprieve from his mind.

“Wait. What’s wrong with you? You don’t seem well.”

Mairon closed his eyes. “I’ll tell you everything. In a moment. Let me take care of your hands first, please?”

Melkor nodded.

When he returned, Melkor held out his palms for the fresh-smelling herbal salve. Mairon worked it in with a delicate touch. The sharp contrast with what he’d been doing in his dreams struck him, and he quietly began to cry. 

“Little flame? My most precious?” Melkor gathered him against his chest and held him, gently stroking his back. Bit by bit, the story poured from him—his panic in the forge, Celebrimbor’s too-kind words, every scrap of nightmare he’d endured. 

“Do you think Irmo is doing this to me? Is it punishment? I could accept it if I knew it would end…”

“Oh, dearest. I don’t know. I would have blamed them once…but…I don’t know. I don’t think they would do this to you. To anyone.”

“But they’re the lord of dreams. That includes nightmares too.”

“I don’t know. I won’t stand for it if they are behind it. But…it might be your own mind.”

“But then…”

“I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.” 

Mairon lay still. “I forgot your boots.” He shrank away as he said it. It was a small failure in the grander scheme of things, but it sealed the sense of worthlessness that had crept around him with the dreams.

“That's all right. Make them when you feel better. I don't mind.”

Mairon hid his face. He thought rage and a well-deserved beating might have cleared his head more, but then he remembered how badly he longed for mercy when Melkor’s mood was reversed. Perhaps it was his nature to be dissatisfied regardless. With Melkor’s arms to protect him, he got the first untroubled sleep he’d had in days.


	22. Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough stuff ahead. Warning for some brief thoughts of suicide.

The next day of class arrived long before Mairon was ready. Melkor had been able to quiet his nightmares for brief stretches, but they came back as soon as Melkor fell asleep himself. Mairon felt stretched thin and ready to break. He hesitated at the door, considered asking Celebrimbor not to come—surely if he weren’t there, everything would be fine—and put off leaving until the last moment. Once there, he studiously avoided Celebrimbor as much as he could, distracting himself by paying closer attention to everyone's technique. He wondered if it were normal for them to improve so slowly.

Mairon heard the faint crackle of burning steel and looked to see who was at fault. _Luinnir. Again._ He stalked over. Luinnir was pumping the bellows and chatting with his neighbor while his overheating work spat white sparks.

“Hey. Look at your iron.”

Luinnir turned around and snatched the piece out. “Ugh, that’s annoying.” The surface was pitted and scarred.

“You cannot take your eyes off your iron when it’s in the fire.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Mmm…I guess that bit will just be shorter.”

“No. It’s ruined. Toss it and start over.” It was a single leaf on a branch that Luinnir had spent several hours on already, and Mairon knew it could be salvaged, but he’d had enough of Luinnir’s lax attention. _His_ students should be prepared to achieve perfection.

“But…I don’t…”

“Toss it and start over. Now.” He felt his mistake as the words left his mouth, his irritation sharpening their edge, his voice raised in tones of command he knew he couldn’t allow. Silence fell over the forge. Mairon glanced around. _Shit. Everyone heard._ Luinnir stared at him, stunned and wide-eyed.

“What’s happening?” Dregor signed to Geleth beside him. “What did I miss?” 

As she explained, Luinnir and the other students laid their hammers down and walked out. Dregor gave him a disappointed look and followed. Geleth hesitated only a moment before she left too.

“Fuck.” Mairon slumped over the nearest workbench, his forehead resting on the cool steel.

“Well.” Celebrimbor sounded surprised and unsure. “You were harsher than usual, but I didn’t think you were out of line. Certainly not deserving of that.”

“No, they’re perfectly right. I violated our agreement. I promised not to treat them like that. Void, now I’ve ruined everything.”

Celebrimbor drew close enough to reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “I don’t think everything’s ruined. Just apologize to Luinnir and do better next time. It’ll be all right.”

Mairon shuddered and let out a tiny whimper at his last words. He’d heard them repeated again and again as dream-Celebrimbor begged him to stop. Being alone with Celebrimbor brought dread to his heart. “I’ll clean up. You can go on.”

“I don’t mind helping.”

Mairon couldn’t find words to refuse without inspiring questions he didn’t want to answer, so he silently worked side-by-side with Tyelpë, scattering the coals of forge fires, putting away abandoned tools, sweeping ash and scale from the floor. As soon as they were done he made for the door.

“Mairon? Wait—”

He pretended not to hear.

His thoughts pounded in his head as he walked away. _I can’t do it. I was fooling myself to think I could ever be different. I am a monster, and I will always be a monster. Even my best will never be enough. I ruined Celebrimbor, and I ruined Maedhros, and I ruined Celebrian, and I ruined the people of Mordor I swore to protect, and I ruined everything for my lord, and everything I touch is doomed. Why did I ever think I could help anyone?_

Stumbling inside, Mairon found Melkor with his shoulders bared and a knife in his hand. He was drawing it meditatively over his skin, watching blood glisten in its path as he cut a delicate tracery of curves and spirals into his arm. 

Melkor glanced up at the sound of the door, catching Mairon’s eyes. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet.”

Mairon had known Melkor hadn’t stopped cutting himself; he noticed the marks whenever they made love, but as long as Melkor kept visiting Irmo and the cuts were healing quickly, he hadn’t wanted to mention them again. None of his concerns crossed his mind now; he saw Melkor's solace, and he wanted it. He stepped forward. “Give me that.”

Melkor relinquished the knife without argument. Pushing up his sleeve, Mairon jerked it across his arm. As the blade bit in he realized it went too deep. Blood slickened his trembling fingers. He could barely feel it. Not enough. He raised the knife again, but Melkor seized his wrist and uncurled his hand from the hilt, wrapping Mairon in his presence and pressing his fingers to the wound.

“No, little flame. If you need pain so badly, you get it from me. Hasn’t that always been the rule?” He tipped Mairon’s chin up and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Now sit.” He steered Mairon into a chair and breathed over the deep gash he'd made. Melkor's power prickled like frost as he pushed it into muscle and skin, knitting them together. His own cuts had already stopped bleeding. “Let’s talk, hmm? Shall I make you some tea? What would help?” 

“Pain,” Mairon whispered. “You just said I could have it. I want pain.”

“I won’t deny you if you’re sure.”

“Please, master. I need to stop thinking.”

“Take off your clothes and wait on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

Mairon gazed longingly after the knife; Melkor took it with him outside. He knew from experience he couldn’t kill himself through blood loss, but he could reach a black oblivion that, while temporary, was looking more attractive by the moment. At the sound of Melkor’s return, he realized he hadn’t moved, and he dragged himself to the bed, stripping as he went. Melkor had cut a long, thin switch, and Mairon eyed it dubiously, thinking it might break before it drew blood. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, Melkor pushed him face-down onto the bed.

“Don’t give me that look.” He held Mairon still with one arm, and though Mairon had no intention of struggling, it was comforting to know he couldn’t get away now if he wanted. A swish through the air warned him just before the switch struck his thighs. Sharp, sweet pain blossomed from the hit. Mairon gasped, grateful that Melkor wasn’t fooling around with warm-up. He needed to be overwhelmed, to have no chance to adjust, and Melkor granted it. Each blow followed as the last was on the cusp of fading, sensation mounting until Mairon could lose himself in it, letting himself slip away, both tethered and fueled by the agony of fresh strikes spiking through the burning ache of his ass and thighs.

When it stopped, Mairon realized he was sobbing. Melkor caressed him, alternating between soothing strokes and running his nails over Mairon's welts, keeping him firmly in the present. Without letting go, he tucked Mairon under the covers and held him close. All Mairon knew was the warmth of his lord, the soothing smell of thunder that radiated from him, and the throb of swelling bruises. Secure and quiet, he slept.

Somehow his peace lasted through the night, but when he woke, all feeling had burnt out, and he was left empty. Melkor let him rest, though he kept coming back to check on him and leaving silently again when Mairon hadn’t stirred. Finally he sat and gently petted Mairon’s curls. 

“You’ve been awake all day, haven’t you.”

“Mmm.”

“Isn’t there work you’re supposed to do?”

“Who cares.”

Melkor sighed.

It grew dark and light again. Mairon supposed he slept, but he found images of Celebrimbor, bruised and bloody, creeping into the margins of his consciousness whether his eyes were closed or not, so it hardly made a difference. Briefly he contemplated letting Melkor have his way and going with him. They could seize a kingdom somewhere; Men were easy to cow. It wouldn’t have to be a large one, just enough that Melkor could order things as he liked and have a source of playthings. If he were a monster anyway, what would be the harm? The thought of how Celebrian would cry at that news gave him pause, but…he was already a disappointment. 

Even as he voiced the idea to himself he knew he could never do it. Not to her. Not to Celebrimbor, who trusted him so much more than he should. Not to Nienna, who had held him and smiled at him and believed in him. Better, then, to take away the possibility. Not for the first time he wished he had the gift of Men, or even the blessed ability of the Eldar, to fade from grief and pass into shadow. If he couldn’t have that…perhaps the best he could do was to keep far away from anyone he cared about.

He felt Melkor waiting nearby. Had he spoken, or was it his imagination? A hand on his shoulder drew his attention. “Mairon. Come. You have a puppy to take care of. At least think of him.”

 _Oh. Rándil. This isn’t fair to him at all._ “I can’t.” He choked on his next words, but forced them out anyway. “You should send him back to Celegorm.” He burst into tears. 

Melkor seemed alarmed. “It’s all right! Don’t cry, little flame. He and I are getting along just fine. I’ll take care of him; don’t worry about a thing.” Melkor rose, and Mairon hoped he was finished, but he returned with Rándil in his arms and plopped him down under Mairon’s chin. He lapped at Mairon’s face, and Mairon curled his fingers into his fur. “Here,” Melkor said. “He can keep you company.”

Mairon shook his head but didn’t push him away. “I don’t want to scare him if I fall asleep and start screaming again.”

“I’ll stay and take him with me if you need to sleep.”

Mairon’s lips curved into a tiny smile. “You don’t mind him in the bed?”

“Not if he helps you.” Melkor bent and kissed him softly.

Days and nights ran together like spilled ink. He heard Rándil’s excited yips outside and the patter of scurrying paws, and that reassured him for the little wolf more than any words. Melkor seemed more concerned as time wore on. “Don’t you think you could tell me what’s wrong?” he asked once more.

Mairon closed his eyes and reached for Melkor’s hand. “I messed up. Everything’s over. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Aulë hasn’t thrown us out yet, so I don’t think it can be that bad.”

Mairon shook his head. “I’m useless. I’m not cruel enough for you, and I’m not good enough for anyone else. There’s no place for me.”

“Mairon…I don’t need you to be cruel. I just need you to be you.”

When Mairon didn’t respond, Melkor adjusted the covers over him and left.

Mairon wasn’t sure if it was later the same day or the next. He heard voices in the other room. He tried to ignore them, but he caught his name and realized they were talking about him. Melkor and…the second voice was familiar. With a sinking feeling, he recognized Celebrimbor. _What’s he doing here? Why is he talking to Melkor? Shouldn’t he be too afraid?_ Footsteps approached, and things went from bad to worse. Celebrimbor sat on the edge of the bed. Mairon didn’t move; he stared at the wall and waited for Tyelpë to leave.

“I covered for you last time. Apologized on your behalf. You’re going to get up and teach class today.”

Mairon closed his eyes and didn’t answer.

“Luinnir isn’t coming back, but the others are. That’s still seven students you’ve made a promise to. Come on. Get dressed. I’ll drag you there if I have to. Or…I have a better idea.” He raised his voice. “Lord Melkor! Will you carry him to the forge if I ask?”

“Sure!” Melkor shouted back. 

“There you are. No getting out of it.” Celebrimbor had no right to sound so cheerful, Mairon thought.

“They’re better off without me,” he murmured hoarsely. If Tyelpë wouldn’t be deterred by silence, he’d make him understand. 

“Now why would you think that?”

“I mess up whatever I touch. I hurt everyone. Don’t wanna hurt them any worse.”

“You made a small mistake. You don’t have to be perfect. No one is.”

“It wasn’t small to Luinnir.”

Celebrimbor sighed, and Mairon felt him shift. He laid a hand on Mairon’s back and rubbed comforting circles through the blankets. “You have seven other people who are hurt if you stay in bed instead of teaching them.”

“I’m not going back. You teach them. You’re better at it anyway.”

“Oh no. I agreed to help, not to take over for you.”

“It’s better this way. You’re all better off without me. Especially you. I don’t even know why you’re here. Did you forget what I did to you? I haven’t forgotten. Not a single cut or lash or scream. I can number every one of them for you.”

Celebrimbor was quiet a long time, and Mairon began to hope he’d finally given up. “Do you think it does anyone any good to wallow in misery like this?” he finally said. “Listen, Mairon. I can see you’re hurting, and I care because you’re important to me. But ultimately? Your pain doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t help your victims in any way. Their pain is what matters. The things you can do to make some difference in their lives, to restore some part of what you took from them—those matter. You lying here, beating yourself up and telling yourself that you’re worthless has got to be the least interesting, least helpful, least important thing you could possibly choose. You owe it to these people to give them what they asked for. Get up.”

Mairon turned and looked up at him. Celebrimbor almost glowed with the passion of his words, and Mairon couldn’t deny their sense. “I don’t want to,” he whispered. “I don’t want to face them.”

“They didn’t want to be your thralls.”

Mairon lowered his eyes, biting his lip. “Give me a moment to get ready. I’ll come with you.”

Tyelpë looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected that to work. He nodded, and Mairon wondered why his eyes seemed so bright. “I’ll wait.”

All through the class Mairon felt as though everyone must be glaring at him whenever his back was turned, but no one said anything, and he managed. Celebrimbor walked out with him when they finished and stayed beside him instead of turning down the hall. 

“What are you doing now?” Mairon asked wearily.

“I told Melkor I’d bring you home.”

“First name basis already, are you?”

Celebrimbor snorted. “I wouldn’t say that to his face. He is a Vala, after all.”

“I was surprised you were willing to talk to him.”

“Mmm. He obviously cares about you.”

 _And that’s enough for you? Just that?_ But they’d reached the door, and Mairon wasn’t sure what to think.

“Goodnight, then,” Celebrimbor said.

“Goodnight.” 

Melkor was writing, one hand on his pen and the other petting Rándil, who was asleep in his lap. He moved both aside when he saw Mairon and rose to embrace him. Mairon wavered on his feet, too tired suddenly to keep standing. Melkor lifted him easily and carried him to bed, pulling off his sooty clothes and fetching a damp cloth to wash his face. “I’ve been thinking, precious.”

“About what?”

“Next time I go to Lórien, I want you to come with me.”

“Oh.” Mairon considered. “I suppose. If that’s what you want.”

"It is."


	23. Lórien

The trip to Lórien approached with a swiftness that Mairon found suspicious. He was certain he should have had at least another week or two, but when he pointed this out to Melkor, he only leaned forward and kissed him softly. He spent a lot of time sitting in the garden, wrapped in a quilt, tossing a ball for Rándil or going over notes for his class while Melkor harvested the bountiful mushrooms that had sprouted after the heavy spring rains. He didn’t feel much better, but Melkor had made it clear he would not be allowed to retreat again from everyone and everything. Mairon didn’t complain; he didn’t have the energy to resist, but he also appreciated Melkor’s attempts to distract him from his thoughts. 

Preparations on the morning of their departure were interrupted by a knock at the door. Mairon had asked Celebrian to watch Rándil while he was gone; that must be her. He rushed to finish gathering Rándil’s things into a bag before answering. Too late he realized Melkor had already let her in.

“You must be Melkor.” Her clear voice filled the room. After a pause, she continued. “Well? Aren’t you going to apologize?”

“What have I ever done to you?” Melkor sounded amused, not angry. Mairon breathed a sigh of relief and stopped in the doorway, watching.

“Only destroyed my family before I was ever born. Do you know how many uncles I never got to play with as a child? Finrod should have sung me lullabies. Aegnor should have taught me to draw a bow. Orodreth should have carried me on his shoulders. I should have sat at the feet of my great-grandfather and heard all of Finwë’s stories. You took that away from me.” 

Mairon paled. He hadn’t thought of that. And maybe it wasn’t his to think of. Melkor’s silence stretched, and Mairon hoped whatever he said next would not be too heartless. Tilting his head, Melkor looked to Mairon, studying him thoughtfully, then turned back to Celebrian. 

“I am sorry for your pain, child.”

She pressed her lips together and stared at him, cold-eyed and hard, but when he said no more, she gave him a slight nod and hurried past to Mairon. “You didn’t tell me he would be here.”

“He lives here. I didn’t think that was a problem.”

“I just…I…I didn’t either.” She scooped up Rándil and snuggled him until he yelped and squirmed away. Mairon called him over and fastened a leash to his collar. Celebrian scratched his ears. “I don’t want to stick around, if that’s all right.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought to bring him outside for you. Here, this has his toys, and instructions on what to feed him, and one of my shirts for him to sleep with.”

She smiled. “He’ll be fine, really. I’ll take good care of him; it’s only a couple of days.”

“I know.” Mairon hugged her and handed her the bag. Rándil followed her without tugging too much at the leash, and she left with no further trouble; Melkor had quietly made himself scarce. Curling up in a soft chair, Mairon waited for him to return. They needed to leave soon too. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and Melkor lifted him up. 

“Ready to get going?”

“Mmhmm.” He put his arms around Melkor and nestled against his chest. “My lord? Thank you.”

“For carrying you?”

“For what you said.”

“Mmm. I know she’s special to you. Don’t expect me to do it for just anyone. I had enough of that last time I was stuck in Valinor.”

Mairon clung tighter. Melkor never spoke of that time, and he hadn’t meant to dredge up terrible memories. Horses awaited them outside the garden gate, along with four of Aulë’s Maiar. Ignoring them, Melkor set Mairon on his horse and swung up onto his own. He stayed close as they rode, near enough to rest his hand on Mairon's thigh. The Maiar rode before and behind and one to each side. Melkor seemed tense, but after a moment, he spoke into Mairon’s mind.

“Check out the one on your right. Do you think he even knows how to smile?”

Mairon glanced and stifled a snort. The Maia did look exceedingly glum. Perhaps he'd drawn the short straw to get this duty. 

“And up ahead. How has no one ever told her how badly those colors clash?” Bit by bit Melkor picked each of them apart so thoroughly that Mairon could no longer conceal his laughter and got annoyed stares from them all.

“We'd best stop before they decide they need to interrogate us,” Mairon said mind-to-mind. “Just think—‘Answer, fiend, what’s so hilarious?’ ‘Oh, only that you’ve embroidered narcissus all over your cloak, and you—you have nothing to be vain about!”

Melkor chuckled at that and slowed his horse enough to drop back and inspect the Maia’s cloak on his left. “It is narcissus, isn’t it? Though I expect the symbolism of flowers has changed since we walked together in Almaren.”

“Don’t spoil the joke; it rather suits him.”

“Do you remember the flowers I used to leave for you on Aulë’s windowsills?”

“Every bunch.” They'd always been strange and clever, whole poems composed in flowers, as likely to contain thistles or rare grasses or bare stems of thorns as lush blooms. Mairon had received them with a thrill and sent back intricate geometric constructions or samples of new alloys he’d invented. “And also…” Mairon hesitated, not sure he did them any favor in bringing it up. “I remember the ones you gave me when I lay healing after…after my fight with Lúthien. I never did figure out how you managed to find heart’s-ease and forget-me-nots anywhere near Angband.” He’d had Melkor’s punishment to heal from as well as his battle-wounds, and the loss of his favored wolves had lain heavy on his heart. The small bunch of delicate flowers had brought tears to his eyes, speaking as it did of Melkor’s care even in the midst of his pain and rage. 

Melkor reached out and took his hand. “I didn’t,” he murmured aloud. “I went up the mountains to where the soil was clean enough to bear them, and I Sang them into being for you.”

“And then spent the rest of the day in bed, I suppose.” So much of Melkor’s power had been gone by then.

“Shush. That’s beside the point.” He worried his lip with his teeth. “I imagined creating huge gardens for you when I was…out in the dark. Flowers I thought you would like. Black roses and foxgloves and aconite and orchids like bats. I wanted to give you the whole world once. And now…now I can offer you nothing.”

 _If you hadn’t gotten distracted by the Silmarils…_ Mairon thought bitterly. _We could have built something worthwhile._ But he squeezed Melkor’s hand. “I have you now, and that’s enough.”

“I’m going to make it up to you. All that you’ve suffered for me.” He spoke so softly Mairon could barely hear. How exactly he expected that to happen, Mairon didn’t know, but the thought filled him with warmth.

They camped that night beneath the stars, and Mairon showed Melkor all the constellations he’d learned from the Easterlings and Haradrim, telling stories of heroes who’d slain lions and tricked djinni and braved dragonfire. He felt more alive than he had since his nightmares began, lying against Melkor with the darkness hiding them. 

“We could slip away,” Melkor whispered in his ear. “They couldn’t hold us back, not really.”

Mairon sighed. Here, with the world spread before them and the night air breathing freedom, he wished he could allow temptation. How pleasing it would be, if he could forget about Celebrimbor and all those who yet had claims upon him. “If we do, we won’t be welcome in Lórien.”

Melkor’s arms tightened around him. “No. You’re right. I’m taking you there, as long and as often as you need. The rest of this,” he nodded toward the wakeful guards, “doesn’t matter. We’ll abide.”

A few hours’ ride in the morning sunshine brought them to Lórien. Mairon smelled the fragrance of flowers before he saw them, waving in meadows and hanging full on tree branches. The gardens grew denser and shadier as they went further in, and soft mists wreathed the ground. A Maia approached and greeted them. Her honey-colored hair was full of cornflowers, and a green snake twined around her arm. They handed off their horses to the guards, who withdrew to give them room.

“What do you seek here? Do you wish to see my lady Estë or Lord Irmo?” She came closer, and her eyes grew wide. “Wait. You’re…you’re Morgoth and Sauron.”

Mairon huffed and reached for Melkor. If he never had to hear those names again, it would be too soon. 

“You should have been prepared for our arrival,” Melkor answered her with surprising calmness. “We’re here to see Lord Irmo.”

She pursed her lips. “This way,” she finally said. “I can’t believe they let you come here. After all the damage you’ve caused? After all the people I’ve helped to heal from what you did to them? Especially you.” She turned and pointed to Mairon. “Why, Númenor alone should prevent you from ever—”

“Númenor? Really?” Mairon had thought he had patience enough for any rancor over the past, but this he refused to bear. “Out of all the crimes you could justly accuse me of, you pick the one where I’m not at fault?”

“Not at fault? You sank the entire island!”

“No,” Mairon growled. “The Valar did that. You think I wanted to drown?”

The Maia narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know about that. Regardless, what of all the innocent people you murdered in that hideous temple? The Faithful? Children and babies?! Sacrificed to…to _him!”_ She wouldn’t look directly at Melkor.

Mairon’s scowl deepened. “You shouldn’t trust blatant propaganda. Every single person sacrificed there volunteered for that honor. Every one. I made sure of that. How else could I have trusted them to carry messages to the Void? And I didn’t have anything like the amount of control people claim. Sure, other people were being killed. That was political, and I had nothing to do with it. Oh, but it’s so much easier to blame the evil Power in their midst than to admit that humans—and elves, for that matter—are perfectly capable of turning on each other and doing horrible things without any help at all.”

“Maybe if you needed messages carried so badly, you should have just sacrificed yourself!"

“Who’s to say I didn’t?” he hissed. The Maia looked a little scared at the dangerous tone his voice had taken, but she gestured to a bench under a flowering cherry. “Sit. Lord Irmo is occupied at the moment, but they’ll be with you soon.” She hurried away with a shudder of disgust.

“Little flame?” He was shaking. Melkor guided him over to the bench. “Is there a story I should hear?”

Mairon glanced up at his lord, then hid his face against him. “Did you really believe I wouldn’t have tried?” He wiped tears from his eyes. “I thought…as long as I was held there anyway, so near Aman and the Doors they pushed you through…perhaps worship from there would reach you strongly enough to…to speak with you, or even to bring you home—I wanted you so badly! I convinced them to build you the temple, and…when it was finished, consecrated…I held feasts and sacrifices and poured out blood and all the power I had, and when…when I thought I had opened the way with all the might I could muster…” He sobbed at the memory, his shoulders trembling. Melkor held him close. “When I thought the time right, and the pathway to you forged if ever it could be, I went up to the altar. Every night for seven nights, I laid myself upon it. I slit my own throat and poured out my life to you. And every night, just before dawn, I awoke on the stone in a pool of my own blood, alone and rejected.”

“Oh Mairon.” Melkor was silently weeping himself. “My love, my precious. I couldn’t keep you from being alone. But I accept you always. Seven times offered, and seven times I accept you.”

Mairon clung to him, crying shamelessly, then he took a deep breath. Melkor deserved to know all the awful secrets of that time, and he never wanted to revisit it. “I told you I was a captive there?”

“Yes; that’s all you said.”

“I could have fought, but it would have destroyed my people; it wasn’t fit to do that to them. We wouldn’t have won in the end.”

“That’s all right, little flame. You have to be smart about your battles.”

“The king, he…I let him take me so he’d leave my kingdom alone, and…he deserved the fate he got. He and everyone who followed him. I hope his death was slow and painful.”

Melkor stroked Mairon’s cheek, looking at him questioningly but saying nothing.

“I felt so weak. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t find any other way. My lord…he raped me.” When Melkor only hugged him tighter, he finally met his eyes. “You don’t hate me for it?”

“How could I?”

“I thought…I thought you’d be ashamed to have your lieutenant…defeated…like that.”

“No. I’m proud of you for surviving. You’ve survived so much, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Slowly the knot in Mairon’s chest eased, and he relaxed against his lord, treasuring his presence and his words. “You survived too,” he whispered. “And I’m glad.”

Melkor froze but then tilted his head as if turning that thought over. “Yes. Yes, I suppose I did.” For a while there was only the murmur of a creek and the chirping of birds. “I hoped you would forget me.”

“I could never! It didn’t matter how long, or who else was in my life, I would have waited for you until the end of time.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t be in pain, missing me and longing for me as I longed for you. I hoped you’d moved on, found happiness in some other life. I didn’t want to think of you feeling that.”

Mairon just shook his head.

“I thought of you always. The good things at first—I searched my memory for every smile, every moment of joy between us, and when those ran out…I was bound and in pain and aching from the cold, and when I couldn’t find joy to wield against the dark, I remembered every time I had hurt you or failed you, and imagined everything you might be suffering without me. That was still better than the thoughts I tried to hide from. The look on Manwë’s face as they thrust me out. Tulkas’s hands on my body, wrenching the chains tight. Námo’s laugh—that laugh resounds through my nightmares. And after long enough alone, with nothing to see or hear but my own voice in my head, nothing was real anymore. I survived, but not whole.” 

Mairon laid his head on Melkor’s shoulder and took his hand carefully in his. They held each other close until Irmo came.


	24. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains drug use and frank discussion thereof. It's mostly but not completely in a therapeutic context. If you want to skip that part, stop reading at "The sun was sinking when Mairon found Melkor and Irmo again" and pick back up at "Shuddering, Mairon arranged himself beside Melkor on the soft moss." You'll miss a little explanation, but it should still make sense.

Irmo stepped out of the mists, and Mairon couldn’t tell if the mist had hidden their approach, or if they simply materialized there. They wore a crown of poppies and mugwort and jasmine, and their bronze skin shimmered like heat-warped air. Greeting Melkor and Mairon with a nod, they beckoned for them to follow and led them deeper into the flower-ringed glade. 

“Come, sit and be welcome.” 

Hesitantly, Mairon sat beside Irmo. Melkor sprawled on a shady patch of grass far enough away to give him some privacy.

“It’s good to see you again, Mairon. It’s been a very long time.”

“Very long,” Mairon whispered. He tried not to tremble. He hoped Melkor was right, and that Irmo had not sent the nightmares themself, but he didn’t share his trust. Irmo’s eyes were the same silver as their unbound hair, and Mairon thought it would be easy to lose himself in their depths.

“I understand your sleep has been troubled. Do you want to tell me about it?”

Mairon bit his lip, suddenly unsure he wanted to be here at all. He glanced over at Melkor and wondered if words would come more smoothly resting in his arms. Maybe not. He closed his eyes and imagined himself speaking to Nienna. “I…it’s…memories of something I did. To someone I loved. I have nightmares now every time I fall asleep, and it’s the same thing over and over, the time I spent torturing him in awful detail, and it won’t stop and I can’t change it or wake up and…and I don’t want to see it anymore!” 

Irmo offered him their hand, and Mairon took it, realizing as he did how he shook. “How did these dreams begin?”

“I’ve been teaching classes with him, and…one day I just looked at him and thought I saw him as…the way…how he looked when I was hurting him, and I panicked, and…well, I was upset and unwell the rest of the evening, and when I slept that night, the nightmares were there.”

“Have you had moments like this concerning him before?”

“A few times.” 

“And have they been set off by anything or anyone else?”

Mairon thought about it. “Every time I remember, it was something that reminded me of him.” He paused, then glanced toward Irmo. Their eyes were still and warm and patient, and Mairon forced out the question he’d been guarding. “I kept thinking…maybe the nightmares were from you. Punishment, or something. I don’t deny I deserve it. I just…I want to repair the friendship I had with him once, and I can’t do that if I can’t even…if I have to push him away even though he wants to give me a chance. And…our students…it’s been so hard to make myself be near him and them, and it’s fine to hurt me, but it’s keeping me from helping people, and I don’t think that’s fair to them.”

Irmo waited until Mairon finished before they answered. “I find nightmares can be useful in the right place, as a wake-up call or a warning, as a way to process frightening or horrifying experiences. I do send them at times. But I do not use them as torment. You’re right, it wouldn’t be fair, to you or to anyone. Your mind has gotten stuck there, and I’m going to help you unstick it.”

Mairon let out a deep breath. “How do we do that?”

“There are two paths we can try. We can seek to quiet these memories, to lull them to sleep and stow them away in the back of your mind. Or you can take another look at them, see if you can work your way through your story, and perhaps find some acceptance that will lay them to rest.”

“But I’ve seen it so many times! I know it so well. What could be left to see?”

“Neither path is better or more worthy; it’s simply a matter of what works for you. You don’t have to go that way.”

“But…I’m not sure I want to just soothe them away. Those things happened. I mean…I did those things. I don’t want to forget.”

“You wouldn’t be forgetting so much as putting a little distance between you and them. They would become like much older memories, ones that don’t hurt so much because they’ve had enough time to soften.”

Mairon slowly shook his head. “I think I want to try the other.”

“All right. And if that doesn’t work, this will still be an option. We’ll try things until we find what helps.”

“Can I change my mind once we’ve begun?”

“I’ll be guiding you into a dreamstate, and it will be different for either choice. You won’t be able to switch mid-dream, but you can stop if you find that it’s too much. I will pull you into a calmer place until it passes.”

“Okay. I can handle that.”

“Take some time to yourself, then, while I speak with Lord Melkor. Walk around the gardens if they please you. We’ll begin at the start of sunset.”

Mairon nodded, rising and giving Melkor a kiss. He left reluctantly, uneasy at leaving Melkor, but as the trees grew closer and darker, he found himself drawn in. The deeper he went into the gardens, the more inviting they seemed. Verdant beds of moss covered the banks along the path, and the crooked black stems of rhododendron thicketed the slopes. Mairon came to a stone bridge that arched over a stream where it trickled into a small pond. Perching on the edge, he slipped off his boots and dangled his feet in the clear water. The cold took his breath away.

As he watched the water flow, his thoughts drifted to Ost-in-Edhel, to the series of water wheels he’d constructed with Tyelpë to power forge equipment—huge hammers and grinding wheels, a rolling mill to draw ingots of metal into more usable lengths. On the night they’d finished, they’d finally given in to the passion they’d sparked in each other. Tyelpë had pressed him against the wall, and their fevered kisses had begged for more. They’d barely made it into Tyelpë’s office, the closest door they could push between them and the world, before their clothes had come off and Tyelpë was reaching for oil, his breathed question met with Mairon’s demanding mouth on his. Mairon had sunk onto his cock and ridden him there at his desk, filled and fulfilled in a way he hadn’t known in ages, and the empty ache in his heart had quieted for a time. Mairon smiled. The next time had found them in Tyelpë’s bed, though not with much more patience, and Tyelpë had spread his legs for Mairon…

Mairon jerked awake. He hadn’t realized he'd nodded off. He was hard, and every little shift of his cock against his clothes felt desperately good. Glancing around to be sure he was alone, he slipped his hand under his riding breeches and stroked himself, holding back little gasps. Then he stilled. He shouldn't be thinking of Celebrimbor like this. Celebrimbor didn't want his touch, not anymore. How could he, after— _No. There's plenty of time to think of that later. There's all night and Lord Irmo's help, just for that._ But he'd lost his taste for pleasure. His arousal took longer to fade, and he headed back, uncomfortable and annoyed with himself.

The sun was sinking when Mairon found Melkor and Irmo again. They'd withdrawn to a sheltered nook where night-blooming flowers were beginning to open and perfume the air. Their laughter reached Mairon before he saw them. They sat together, passing the hose of a hookah back and forth and sending languid smoke rings into the air. Mairon wrinkled his nose at the rank, piney smell.

“Mairon! Come join us!” Melkor called. 

Mairon leaned against Melkor's side but shook his head when he was offered the hose. “Is it going to make me feel weird?”

“Floaty and nice,” Melkor answered.

“No thanks.”

“Mairon. You're about to be very high and seeing visions anyway.” But Melkor put his arm around him and didn't offer the hookah again.

“Am I?” Mairon looked to Irmo. “I thought you'd make me dream directly. Without the high part.”

Irmo’s eyes were half-closed. “I can. But it’s easier on most minds to nudge them there with the help of plants or some of your lord’s mushrooms. Gentler. Less fighting it. That's why it matters what dreams you want to aim for—if I give you milk of poppies you will have a very different experience than if you take the fly agaric mushroom.”

“Oh.”

Melkor glanced down at him. “Little flame? Are you all right with that?” 

Mairon had never been fond of relinquishing his clarity of mind; he could count the feasts at which he'd gotten truly drunk on one hand. He went to twist his rings and was sharply reminded of their absence. “I think I'll be all right. It’s not really different from what I expected. It’s just an extra step.” 

“That's a good way to think of it.” Irmo stretched and rose, then began brewing a tea. “It's actually a mushroom I'll be giving you both tonight. One your lord grew for me specially.” They looked to Mairon. “I know this is your first time and a bit nerve-wracking, but I want you to relax as much as you can. You won’t sleep right away; you’ll be conscious within your dream, and you'll have a good deal of power to alter it or to look elsewhere as you wish. Your purpose is to explore those unpleasant thoughts, but you don’t have to hold on to them. It’s all right to let them go. I’ll be ready to help you with anything too frightening or painful; you’ve only to ask.”

Accepting the cup Irmo handed him, Mairon drank gingerly. It tasted earthy and bitter. Soft music played nearby, someone with a lute or a harp. 

“You’ll want to find a comfortable place to lie down; you have a little while to wait,” Irmo said.

“Hold my hand?” Mairon asked Melkor. 

“Of course.” He pulled Mairon to sit between his legs and lean back against him. Gently he combed his fingers through Mairon’s curls. “I’ll be right beside you all night.” 

He shivered as Melkor traced the bare nape of his neck. The breeze was cool and soothing, and the light of the rising moon seemed to swell and shimmer. A falling star streaked across the darkening sky, and its tail left a shower of purple and gold glittering behind it. “My lord, did you see that?”

“Varda’s eyes staring down from the sky?”

Mairon glanced back at him, puzzled. “No.”

“I’m going to lie here under the branches where I don’t have to look. Things are about to get strange, dear one.”

Shuddering, Mairon arranged himself beside Melkor on the soft moss. He disliked the thought that he couldn’t trust his senses, but he wouldn’t be looking at the outside world much longer. _Not any longer,_ he decided, closing his eyes. His body felt heavy and distant. He wound his fingers through Melkor’s. A silvery presence waited on the edges of his mind. _Lord Irmo?_

_I’m here. Do you feel ready?_

Mairon nodded assent and didn’t notice if his body moved or only his dreaming self. 

_Let’s wander slowly. You told me you loved this person who’s been in your dreams. Can you show me a time you were happy together?_

Instantly Mairon’s mind went to Tyelpë lying naked on his bed, urging him closer. He blushed deeply and shied away.

 _It’s all right, I won’t look. Pull at me when you’re ready to go on._ Irmo’s voice was silky and gentle, and Mairon found his anxiousness calmed. He looked again, remembering later that night or one like it when he’d woken sobbing for Melkor, only barely keeping the incriminating name from his lips. Tyelpë had held him and comforted him, not asking why beyond the first soft offer to listen if he wanted to tell. Tyelpë had tried to comfort him again when he hung in chains, his blood fresh on Mairon’s knife... Mairon reached out frantically for Irmo. The chamber surrounded him; he could hear Tyelpë’s labored breathing. 

_It’s all right; this isn’t real._

_But it was,_ Mairon wailed. 

_This was long ago. It happened, but it isn’t happening now. You’re here to look and remember and consider, not to punish yourself with the memory._

Mairon drew a deep breath and realized he could still feel Melkor’s hand in his and hear the rustling song of crickets. _All right. I can do this._ He felt rather than saw Irmo’s encouraging nod. Turning his mind once more to Ost-in-Edhel, he built the workroom stone by stone, walked around Celebrimbor’s broken body, extended his hand and touched him. _I’m sorry, Tyelpë. I wish I had never hurt you. You were always so good to me…I loved you._ How had he managed to fuck things up so badly?

Tyelpë hung unconscious. _No…I did worse before the end._ Tyelpë hung unconscious, bones broken, muscle and tendon showing where Mairon had cut him open and pulled back the skin. Blood dripped from his wounds. _I loved you, but I didn’t trust you. You were better than me, and I should have trusted you._ Tyelpë hung unconscious, and blood dripped from his wounds. It ran from his body in bright rivulets, gleaming and red. _I should have trusted you, and instead I did this. Instead I told myself I was higher than you, that what I wanted mattered more. I didn’t trust you, and I was wrong._

Blood pooled on the floor, but instead of slowing it flowed faster, more blood than any body could contain pouring down, rising around Mairon’s knees, and still it came. There was so much. _What do I do?!_ Mairon begged.

_Do you think he would want you to drown in his blood?_

_No,_ Mairon answered with deep certainty. _Even if he can’t forgive me, he wouldn’t want that. He wants me to help people. He wants me to change things. That’s what he always wanted._

 _Then change them._ Irmo’s words seemed to come from an increasing distance.

Mairon turned, gazing upon the flood that stretched from wall to wall, casting about for anything to make it stop. He bent and filled his hands with it and watched it run between his fingers, sparkling like garnets. And garnets it became, falling from his hands, piled in mounds, dark and red as blood, light refracting in their hearts and glittering on their facets.

 _Put them back._ He didn’t think the voice was Irmo’s, not anymore. What dream-logic this was, he couldn’t tell, but he knew he would obey. He looked around. Celebrimbor’s body lay against the wall, pierced with arrows. _Gather them up and put them back._

 _I can’t,_ he answered. _They don’t belong in him now._

_You must gather them all._

He started to pick them up, but each stone was tiny, and they slipped from his grasp. He scooped up handfuls, filling his pockets and baskets and pails, but every vessel he found was pierced like the war-banner that lay where Tyelpë had been, and every garnet he put inside poured out again like water. He felt that ages had passed, gems gathered and lost again and again, and finally he sank down in despair. _I cannot. I can’t put them back. I can never fix this._ He wept.

“Annatar?” A gentle hand was on his shoulder. He glanced up. Tyelpë stood there, looking at him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

He waved his hand. “All these garnets—I have to pick them up. Every one of them. And every time I try, they just slip away.”

“Is that all? Here, let me help you.” He held a wide sieve, the sort used for winnowing wheat. “Let’s put this shirt inside to line it—oh, it’s bloody.” He dipped it in the wash basin that rested, still full, on a workbench and drew it out as white as snow. “That’s better.” Laying it in the sieve, he held it out to Mairon. Together they piled the garnets in it, one by one, each no larger than a seed. Mairon thought they must have numbered millions, but somehow with Tyelpë beside him, the task went quickly, and Tyelpë smiled as Mairon placed the last stone inside. “I knew you could do it,” he murmured. Tyelpë and the workshop faded away.

Mairon found himself on a mountainside. The air was bitterly cold, and snowflakes floated from the sky, whirling in the wind and drifting over the slopes, each a delicate crystal, identical drops of water transformed into a chaos of sparkling shapes. 

_You've crossed into your master’s dreams._ Irmo spoke with quiet amusement.

 _Do I have to go back?_ Mairon's stomach sank at the thought.

_No. I think you've achieved what you can tonight. You can stay here if it pleases you, or I'll take you somewhere peaceful._

_I think I’d like to stay, if that's all right._

As he watched, the snow accumulated and turned to ice under the force of its own weight. Glaciers blanketed the mountain and imprisoned the earth beneath. But spring came, and meltwater ran down in streams that flowed together into rivers, and all the land below was green and well nourished.

Again Mairon's surroundings changed, and he stood in a forest beside a fallen tree, or perhaps he was the tree. Tiny threads of mycelium penetrated him, growing as he withered, feeding voraciously on his corruption and driving his decay. He disintegrated as mushrooms pushed through his bark, until at last he fell away and mingled with the soil. But spring came, and an acorn sprouted where he had lain, and the richness of the rotted wood strengthened its roots, and it grew to be the tallest and fairest tree in the wood. Then lightning struck, and mycelium threaded into its bark, and its heart was consumed and crumbled to earth. Mushrooms fruited from its trunk, and spring came.

Mairon woke before Melkor and lay a long while watching him sleep. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, stretching and gazing up at Mairon through long, dark lashes.

“What is it, little flame? Why are you looking at me like that?” A smirk spread across his face. “I didn't ask to be worshipped this early in the morning.”

Mairon shut him up with a long kiss. “I really do love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psilocybin mushrooms and other hallucinogens have been used medicinally by indigenous cultures for thousands of years, and are currently under medical research for treating PTSD and other mental illnesses. This chapter is in no way intended as an accurate portrayal of that type of therapy.


	25. Drinks

Melkor was quiet for much of the trip back. Mairon understood what he’d meant about feeling wrung out. It wasn’t a bad feeling, exactly, a soft emptiness, a fragility, like fabric worn thin or a fire that had burned down to embers. He wished they could have rested in Lórien a while, but he had obligations to tend to, and Melkor was unwilling to risk being seen if he could avoid people altogether. 

Irmo had asked him to return at least a few times, saying that his nightmares should be lessened, but he'd likely need time and further work to be fully free of them. “I’ll keep an eye turned toward your dreams if you wish,” they had offered. “I can’t promise to keep your nightmares away completely, but I’ll hear and aid you if you call out to me.”

“Please.” Mairon might’ve cared once about such an invasion of his mind, but he thought he would agree to almost anything to keep Celebrimbor’s suffering from being shoved so vividly before him again. And he didn't have anything to hide, not anymore. That was a deeper relief than he'd realized.

“I’ve been thinking about what Celebrimbor said to you.” Melkor’s sudden words startled him. 

Mairon nudged his horse closer. “Oh? What part?”

“About actions mattering, not feelings. When it comes to…repairing things. Between people. Do you think he’s right?”

“I think…” Mairon closed his eyes and considered. He wasn’t proud of that day. “Yeah. I do think he’s right. At least…my feelings certainly weren’t helpful at the time. I guess…how I feel drives a lot of what I do. But if I don’t end up doing things, then the feelings don’t make a difference to anyone.” Melkor didn’t often pry like this, and he couldn't think what had brought it on. “Why?”

“I wondered…if you woke up tomorrow and your feelings were gone—the sorry, guilty, ashamed ones—would you still keep taking the same actions? The things you do to make up for what you regret?”

“Is this about my Ring again? Because I’m not having that conversation a second time.”

Melkor glanced at him. “There’s no need to get snappish about it. I’m just curious.”

Mairon sighed. “Fine. I suppose…I don’t know. It might have been hard to get started making amends without those feelings. But now…losing them wouldn’t stop me. I might go about it differently, but…there’s too much else I care about that would keep me going. People I want to take care of and stay friends with. People I…want to be worthy of. And anyway, I’m so tired of war and tired of being everyone’s adversary. I don’t have to fight anymore, not now that you’re here. I would do some of it just for the sake of peace.”

“Hmm. So…you’re working to attain something you want, not fleeing guilt. Have I got that correct?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s right.”

“I see.” He grew quiet again, and after a moment he murmured something almost too softly to be heard. “Manwë never understood that. Nothing was good enough for him without the guilt.”

“My lord?” But Melkor said no more.

*

Aulë’s apprentices had left tools scattered around the forge. Mairon scowled and started tidying up, making a note to speak to Aulë about it. He had just finished and begun chalking diagrams on the board when Celebrimbor came in and tossed down his tool chest.

“Hey, Mairon! I wasn’t sure if you'd be back yet. How’re you doing?”

Mairon looked up. “Better. At least a bit. Umm…Tyel—Celebrimbor?”

“You can call me Tyelpë; I don't mind.”

“I wanted to say that I'm sorry.”

“It's fine, not a big deal, you had a rough week, it happens. I probably shouldn't’ve been so harsh--”

Mairon was shaking his head. “I mean…back in Ost-in-Edhil. What I did to you. To your people.”

“You already apologized. You don't have to do it again.”

“I feel like I didn't do it very well. Just…it’s been on my mind a lot. You were right. I should have talked to you. And…I should have listened. I am sorry.”

“It's forgiven. And Mairon? If there's anything else you want to say about it, can we go ahead and get it out of the way? I’d really like not to talk about it again, at least for a long while.”

Inwardly Mairon cringed. He’d been thinking of himself and not Tyelpë. “Only one thing. I wish I could’ve seen your rings. You know, under better circumstances. I bet they were magnificent.”

Celebrimbor smiled ruefully. “They were. I wished I could show them to you.” He heaped coal into the forge they used for demonstrations and laid out his hammer and some punches. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go out for a drink when we’re done, before you went and weighed us down with gloom.”

“Oh.” Mairon kept his eyes on his drawings, afraid of what he might see in Celebrimbor’s face. “Do you still want to?”

“That would be why I mentioned it, yes.”

Mairon laid down the chalk. “Is this a…strictly professional drink?”

“This is a 'let's hang out and see where the evening takes us’ drink.”

“Oh.” 

Loud chatter mixed with hearty laughs sounded through the hall, and Geleth and Embrethil entered together, Geleth with a hefty bag slung over her shoulder. “Mairon! I've been messing around with this clock idea, and isn't working, I'm not sure why, but it makes the most awful noise you won't believe!” Her grin was contagious.

“I'll take a look, but then you need to get your mind on iron.”

“Well?” Celebrimbor asked softly in his ear. Mairon squeaked in surprise. It was the closest Celebrimbor had approached him since they'd met again.

“Okay. Yeah. Drinks.”

“Great.”

The bar Celebrimbor led him to once their students had gone was a pleasant walk away. The door was thrown open to let in the cooler night air, and Mairon heard music as they approached, drums and krummhorns and deep-voiced viols. It sounded almost Dwarvish.

“My favorite band’s playing tonight,” Celebrimbor told him. “A lot of the people who come here are Noldor returned from Middle-Earth, and I’m not the only one who misses nights of music in the halls of Dwarves.”

Mairon stiffened. “So anyone might recognize me?”

“Shit. I’m sorry; do you want to go somewhere else?”

Scanning the room, Mairon could find no familiar faces. Slowly he shook his head. “I want to hear what you wanted to share. What you like. Let’s just sit in a corner out of the way; it’ll be fine.”

Celebrimbor found them seats at a small table. The crowded knot of elves dancing on the open floor near the stage was steadily growing. “I'll go fetch drinks; what would you like?”

“I don't really know.” He hadn’t cared for the heady, dark wines Melkor had imported to Angband, and he doubted he'd recognize much else.

“Well, what flavors do you like?”

“Spicy-hot and sweet?”

“I'll see what I can come up with.”

Mairon watched the dancers. A surprising number wore their hair in unnaturally bright colors, and some even had it cut as short as Celebrian’s—shorter than his, now that it had gotten a little time to grow. Two girls parted from the crowd and headed toward him, and he realized one was Celebrian herself. Her companion stopped before they came close, seeming to disagree. She kissed Celebrian’s cheek and returned to the dance floor. Mairon rose and pulled out a chair for Celebrian, but she shook her head. 

“I just saw you were here and wanted to say hi. And introduce my friend, but she _chickened out!”_ She called the last words across the room, though there was no way her friend could hear over the music. Celebrian turned back and grinned. “So how are you? Ooh…who are you here with?” She peered at the cloak Celebrimbor had flung over his chair. “Don't tell me you actually talked Melkor into a night on the town!” 

“Can you imagine the uproar if I had? People screaming and fleeing? No, it's an old friend.” Mairon looked over the alarming amount of metal she'd incorporated into her outfit. Her hair seemed extra spiky tonight. “Does Maedhros know you're out this late?”

Celebrian ignored the question. “That must really suck for Melkor. I mean, I guess he deserves it, but still. Damn.” She took a chair after all. “I know I kind of freaked out about him the other day, but…I got home and thought about it, and…I've heard people shout similar things at Maedhros. I needed to say what I did, but I will be nice if you have me over again.”

“Thanks. That's very kind of you.”

Just then, Celebrian noticed Celebrimbor approaching with two glasses in hand. She eyed them both and raised her eyebrow at Mairon with a sly smile. Leaping to her feet, she waited for him to set the glasses down before tackling him with a hug.

“Celebrian! I heard you’d come by way of Mandos; I didn't know you were back! You…look younger than I remember. Can I ask what happened? No one would tell me anything.”

“This asshole happened.” She put her arm around Mairon. “But he's also the reason I'm alive again, so we’re good.”

Mairon didn't want to hear what questions might follow that. “I'll just head out and let you two catch up.”

“Please don't!” said Celebrimbor.

“I've gotta go nab my friend before she finds someone else to dance with,” Celebrian announced. “I'll see you later. Celebrimbor, I'm staying with Maedhros and Fingon; you should come have dinner with us!”

“I'll do that.”

Mairon watched her find the other girl and go back to dancing, holding each other far closer than he’d expected. Glancing at Celebrimbor, he supposed he had no room to talk. He sipped his drink. It tasted of cinnamon and burnt sugar and left a faintly burning trail down his throat. “So…what's the deal with people’s hair? I never thought I'd see the day when an elf would voluntarily wear it short.”

“You should've asked Celebrian; she could probably give you a better answer. As I understand it, it's both a way to mark yourself as one of the returned, to say 'I've lived through things you can't imagine,' and also a big ‘fuck you, I do what I want,' to those who are more…set in tradition. Unfortunately, Arafinwë's people aren’t always as accepting of us as one might wish, and there's a certain amount of resentment toward them and their ways. That's also why so many stay on Tol Eressëa, under Fingolfin's and Gil-galad's shared rule.”

“But not you?” _Gil-galad. I'll have to speak with him at some point. I wonder if he even knows I'm here._

“I do spend some time on the island; most of the Gwaith-i-mírdain settled there, and I like to visit. But my family's here—my grandmother and my father and uncles, most of my cousins. Fëanor's sons aren't particularly welcome anywhere, but we get by.”

Mairon almost asked if that meant Celebrimbor had reconciled with his father, but thought better of it. Instead he got him talking about his latest projects, and for a time the night passed more smoothly. 

“You know, I think I finally understand how Grandfather felt about the Silmarils.” Celebrimbor had leaned his chair back against the wall and was staring at the ceiling. “At least in part. What we made together…the rings I made…I can never recreate that. And even if I could, what would they mean, here, in the Undying Lands? It makes everything else I do feel a little pointless sometimes. Every now and then, I get this longing to go back. To create in a land where the stakes are higher.”

“I can never make again what I have made,” Mairon said softly. “But for me…that's a relief.” He thought of his later works, of Morgul-blades and siege engines and instruments of torture. “I think there's a lot to be said for living in quiet lands where you can make things just to delight in skillfulness and beauty.”

Celebrimbor had a gentle look in his eyes. “I can see that, too.” 

They fell silent and listened to the music for a while. The throng of dancers had thinned as the night wore on, and the musicians had gone to wilder, rumbly tunes that stirred an ache in Mairon to be touched.

Mairon drew a deep breath and hoped Tyelpë wouldn't be disgusted at the mere question. “Would you…maybe…want to dance? With me?”

Celebrimbor took a moment to answer. “No. But maybe next time.”

“But…that means there’ll be a next time?”

“If you want.”

Mairon smiled. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Tirion's punk scene.


	26. History

Melkor was lying in bed with a book when Mairon came in, absently petting Rándil, who was stretched out asleep beside him.

“‘No wolves in the bed’ was your rule, not mine,” Mairon said when he saw them. “Are we just giving up on that?”

Melkor set down his book. “I needed someone to keep me company. You were out quite late; I was starting to worry.”

“I went out with Tyelpë. I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

“Did you have a good time?” Melkor shifted so he could join him on the bed, careful not to jostle Rándil and wake him up.

“I did.” Giving him a solid kiss, Mairon snuggled against his lord. “So…first off, I love you, and I want you, and I don’t mean any of this to make you feel like I’d ever take anything away from you. This is purely hypothetical at this point; I’m not even sure if it’s what he wants—or if he knows what he wants—but I can't let things go too far and then hurt him if I can't give him all he deserves, and maybe it's foolish to even be thinking of it, but—” 

“Take a deep breath, precious, and tell me what you want.”

Mairon's heart was racing. He paused and tried to pull his scattered thoughts together. “If I wanted to be lovers with Tyelpë again…or just to explore it and see if it works…how would you feel about it?”

“Does he make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll figure out how to make room for him.”

“Just like that?”

“I want you to have whatever makes you happy. And he seems good for you—he helped when you needed it and I didn’t know how. Now, I will expect a few things—let me know next time you’re going to be out all night; see that I don’t have to fight for your time—but I think we can solve these problems as they come up.”

Mairon laid his head on Melkor’s chest. “Thank you so much. Thank you for understanding.” He glanced up. “You don’t even seem surprised.”

“Well…Tyelpë may have spoken to me himself, right before we left for Lórien.”

“Really? He did? And you didn’t tell me?”

“He wanted to approach you on his own time, not for you to hear about it secondhand.”

“What did he say?!”

“You'll have to talk to Tyelpë about Tyelpë’s feelings. He just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t offend me if you two grew more intimate.”

“‘More intimate?’ Were those his words? Did he—” 

“Mairon. You are not a half-baked spring colt. Kindly stop acting like one.”

Climbing the rest of the way into Melkor's lap, Mairon nuzzled apologetically against his neck. “Yes, my lord. No more of him tonight, I promise. I'm all yours.”

*

“Sir? I'm looking for anything that might have information on early metalworking techniques among Men. Do you know if that even exists?”

Mairon looked up in surprise from the stack of new works he was inspecting. He didn't get many requests for assistance in the library, and most of those could be easily solved by learning to use the catalog. This one would take some thought. “I doubt there's much to be had on that subject; I don't believe there's even a catalog entry... How urgently do you need it?”

“Well…it's what I wanted to write my thesis on—I'm at university in Valmar—and if there's nothing, if I have to pick something else, I need to know soon. But if the information’s out there, I can take some time to hunt it down. I couldn't find anything in the university library of course, but I thought…surely among the returned Noldor someone would have written about it.”

“That's a very niche topic. Is it…excuse my asking, but will it be of much use?”

The young elleth's eyes widened. “It's not about use, it's about the history, about studying the process of how that knowledge developed, exploring what differences there might have been with our own progression and what that says about Men and Elves, and anyway it's _fascinating,_ and I think that’s reason enough to want to know!”

Mairon smiled. “I knew someone long ago who was very interested in Mannish craft, a scholar of the Gwaith-i-mírdain. I think we have his book…” He rose and searched through the shelf where he’d seen it. “Yes. This has a section on pre-contact metalworking. I don't know if he's living; you might be able to interview him.” He distinctly remembered the sight of his one-time colleague lying face-down in the mud, impaled on an orc's spear, but he tried not to dwell on that. Helping the elf before him was what mattered right now. 

“And it's possible we have some Númenórian texts worth looking through.” He sighed, hoping what he said next wouldn't scare her away. “Honestly though…most human clans got a lot of their metalworking technology from Angband. That was one of the skills my lord and I taught in exchange for loyalty. Umm…you did know who I was when you came in, right?”

She nodded hesitantly, chewing on a strand of her golden hair. “But that means…that means you were there. You saw it all. You know exactly what they could do before they met you, and exactly what you added to it, and what they invented from there, yeah? I don't need to talk to any of the Gwaith-i-mírdain; I need to interview _you._ And…and Morgoth.”

“You'll need to call him Melkor if you want to talk to him in person.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Of course. Sorry. It's just habit. I'll be really careful if it means I can interview him, too. That's…no one's ever done that. Do you know what that means for my research? Do you have any idea how hard it is to find something no one's ever written about?!!”

“I think you'll still want to follow up with this guy.” He tapped the book he'd handed her. “More sources never hurt. And you might find enough to be able to trace how those skills took different forms among various peoples.”

“You’re right; you’re right. Valar, this is huge…You will talk to me, won't you? And help me talk to Mo—to Lord Melkor? Please??”

“Yes, I will.” He looked out the window; the afternoon was already fading, and Celegorm had decided it was time he got to know Huan. He wondered briefly if it were too late to send his excuses. “I can't do it right now, though. Can you come back in three days? I'll have most of the day free for you then.”

She nodded breathlessly. “Of course. I'll be here. Thank you so much!”

*

The bell in the great clocktower overlooking the square was ringing the hour as Mairon hurried toward the fountain. Celegorm had wanted to meet on neutral ground, and had insisted he leave Rándil at home—“No point letting the little guy decide he needs to be frightened of Huan too, just because he notices you are,” Celegorm had explained. A part of Mairon's mind whispered that this would be an excellent way to trap him alone, if Celegorm held any ill-will against him, but he tried to push that down. Celegorm had done nothing to deserve such distrust.

Huan rose from his place at Celegorm’s side when Mairon approached. A low rumble sounded deep in his chest. Mairon froze. 

“Huan! We talked about this! Do NOT make me send you home!”

With a huff, Huan dropped back to the ground.

“Good boy. We’re all on our best behavior, all right?” He turned to Mairon. “Come on, then. Let’s just walk a bit.” 

Mairon fell in beside him, stationing Celegorm between him and Huan.

Celegorm didn’t let the awkward silence last long. “I have to thank you for sending Celebrian to me for self-defense lessons. She’s a natural, but she had a couple habits that were gonna get her hurt eventually.”

“She’s doing well, then?”

“Oh, yeah. Really well.”

“Do you know if she’s still…ending up in fights? She doesn’t like to tell me.”

“Ehh, who would? It’s embarrassing, to be a kid and not able to deal effectively with all the shit people throw at you. I do believe some of her, erm, regulars have decided she’s not worth the trouble, though.” He handed a piece of something to Huan without looking down. “I’ve had to completely give up carrying bladed weapons in town, myself. It invites more aggression than it solves.” He fed Huan another bite. “You know, I’d really thought people would leave us alone after we worked so hard to fix things. Seventy years serving Thingol and seventy for King Olwë, all six of us. And still I have to be careful not to be caught alone in dark alleys.”

 _What hope do I have of ever finding acceptance if that’s how people treat you?_ Mairon wondered. He spoke hesitantly. “If you wanted…I would do something like that for you. For your family. If there’s any kind of service you would take.”

Celegorm was silent for a while. “I don’t have any desire to ask that of you. Nah, I’d rather just be friends.”

Mairon wasn’t sure he understood why, but he supposed it would do. “What are you feeding him?” he asked when Celegorm slipped Huan his next treat.

“His favorite cheese.” Celegorm glanced at him with a cheeky grin. “Want some? I’ll feed you treats for walking nicely without growling too, if it’ll help.”

Mairon stared at him in shock for a moment before bursting into laughter. Celegorm laughed too, and by the time they circled back around to the house of Aulë, he hardly noticed Huan’s presence anymore. 

“Do you think you might pat him on the head?” Celegorm asked as they stood before the doors. “Don’t push yourself if you’re not comfortable, but he’s up for it.”

Huan stepped forward and sat in front of Celegorm, and Mairon gingerly extended his hand, letting Huan sniff his fingers before lightly touching his head.

“Brilliant,” Celegorm declared.

*

“Let me get this straight,” Melkor said to the golden-haired elleth. She clutched a thick notebook to her chest. Mairon sat with them around the table, pouring tea. He’d offered to speak to her first alone, but she’d preferred to question them both at once, at least for the first session. “You’ve come here, to speak to _me,_ about _human_ history?”

__“Human metalsmithing history,” she supplied cheerfully._ _

__“And what are you, a Vanya? How is this of interest to you?”_ _

__“My mother’s Vanyarin, but my father’s a Noldorin smith. I thought I wanted to be a smith like him, but as I started learning, I found what I really loved was the history and the culture of it, so I’m studying to be a loremaster instead.”_ _

__“Indeed? You seem so very young.”_ _

__“I’m not; I’m three hundred and thirty…four, come midsummer.”_ _

__Melkor looked to Mairon and laughed. “Young enough to know the number of your years…And you aren’t afraid to sit here with us?”_ _

__She tilted her head. “Should I be?”_ _

Melkor shook his head disbelievingly. “Go on, then. What is it you want to know?” 

She consulted a list she'd drawn up. “Who were the first humans you encountered, and did they use any metals already? Mairon said you introduced a lot…” 

Melkor leaned back, sipping his tea, and thought about it. “The first…we were scouting far to the east, and we came upon a small group on the banks of a river…five or six families, perhaps. They had elegant blades of flaked stone, and a few things of beaten copper they shaped from lumps of ore they found in the waters…" 

They spoke for hours, the elf scribbling furiously in her notebook. Mairon let Melkor tell most of the story, jumping in with details here and there. Melkor seemed to have forgotten the weight of defeat that usually hung over him, caught up in the pleasure of having his every word eagerly awaited. 

“You seem to have really cared about these people,” the elf commented as they started to wind down. 

“Care is not the right word,” Melkor said. “They interested me deeply. Everything about them was so intense—they were furious and passionate and desperate, as if…as if they were fireworks, burned up all at once, but with such radiance and color. I always got along better with them than with the elves. We understood each other more, perhaps. We shared a restlessness.” 

More than anything in that moment, Mairon wished he could give his lord room to wander as they had long ago, freedom to assuage that restlessness. Surely someday he could have more than this. After she’d gone, Mairon curled up beside him. “You looked like you enjoyed yourself.” 

“It's strange, being…sought out like that. Being…just a person, with something worthwhile to say. First Geleth, and then her…I don't know. I think I could get used to it.” 


	27. Tyelpë

Several weeks passed without Celebrimbor saying another word about their night out or offering any further overtures. Mairon wondered if he was expected to make the next move, but Celebrimbor had already said no to him once, so maybe it was better to wait until he was ready. The last thing he wanted was to make Celebrimbor feel the slightest bit pressured or uncomfortable. But the longer he waited, the more he began to dread that Celebrimbor had changed his mind, come to his senses and realized how foolish it was to care for him at all. That was fine, he told himself. It was better anyway. Yet every now and then, he caught Celebrimbor watching him with a soft look from across the forge, and he stored up the smiles Celebrimbor gave him like treasure to bring out again when his days were hard.

“Are you busy tomorrow? Would you like to come see my forge?”

Class was over, and Mairon was scooping the remaining coals out of his firebox and dumping the ashes, setting everything in order so that whoever used it next would have an easy time lighting the fire. It took a moment to realize what Celebrimbor had said.

“I'm almost done with a big commission I've been working on, and I’d love to show it off.”

“Of course I would,” Mairon answered eagerly. “At your…home?” That idea didn't sound as good.

Celebrimbor nodded.

“Are you…sure you want me to know where you live?” He'd wanted this, why was he complicating it?

“It's not exactly a secret.” Celebrimbor stepped closer. “Annatar…I wouldn't be asking if I didn't trust you that far.”

“But…you trusted me too easily before, and we both know where—”

Celebrimbor pressed a finger to his lips. “No. We're not going there. You want to know what's different?”

“What?”

“The Annatar I knew then would never have accepted a reprimand from a bunch of students.”

Embarrassed, Mairon looked away. That wasn’t what he'd expected to hear. He wasn’t sure what he'd expected. Celebrimbor still stood so close. Mairon let his nearness blot out the less pleasant thoughts circling him. It would be easy to turn his head, lean forward just a breath, capture those lips… _No. Too much. He won't want that._

Celebrimbor seemed to come to the same conclusion; he backed up and took a seat on the edge of a workbench. “So you'll come, then?”

Mairon nodded. “I talked to Melkor. About us,” he added hesitantly.

“Oh? What did he say?”

“That he wants me to be happy, and so he's fine with it if we—if you and I—if we were more…More.”

“You are adorable right now.” Celebrimbor jumped down. Any hesitancy he might have shown had vanished. “I think you'd better say exactly what you mean, though. It wouldn't do to have any…misunderstandings.”

Mairon closed his eyes. “My lord said we could be lovers if we wished it.”

“Interesting, that's just what he told me.” Celebrimbor’s voice was far too close. Mairon stepped back, and his thighs hit the anvil. Celebrimbor caught him and steadied him before he could fall. “Is that what you wish?”

“Yes,” Mairon whispered. “Are you sure you don't mind that Melkor's a part of this? Knowing he's so important to me? That you'll never have me all to yourself?”

“Melkor has always been a part of us. I felt him whenever we were together—I just didn't know who it was I shared your heart with, who you woke up crying for. I won't lie, after I found out, after that first conversation we had, I was immensely jealous. On top of a lot of other feelings I had to work through. But I realized—the part that hurt wasn’t that you loved him, but that you never trusted me with it.”

“I wish I had.”

“I know. The thing is, I want you to be happy, too. And you aren't, without him. So…we’ll figure it out.”

“I feel so incredibly lucky right now.”

“I feel pretty lucky myself.” Celebrimbor raised a hand tentatively to Mairon’s face, traced the curve of his cheek, pushed back the hair that had fallen in his eyes. “Whoever could have guessed that in the end, after everything, I would get what I’d wanted?” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mairon’s, firm and sure.

Moaning softly, Mairon opened his mouth, meeting Celebrimbor’s tongue, marveling at the ease with which they explored. Celebrimbor’s hand cupped the back of his head, and Mairon reached for his waist to pull him closer.

Celebrimbor flinched sharply. “Don’t touch me!” he gasped, breaking away. Mairon froze, fearing that any movement might be read as danger in Celebrimbor’s state.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. He tried to hold back tears; they wouldn’t help.

“Not your fault.” Slowly and deliberately, Celebrimbor brought his breathing back to normal. “I would have warned you if I’d known that’d be a problem.” He stared down at his shaking hands and sighed. 

“It quite literally is my fault, I should have thought—”

“We’re still not going there, okay? I don’t want to think about it, and I don’t want you thinking about it either.”

Mairon nodded and didn't point out that clearly, Celebrimbor already had. “Sorry. We don’t have to…if you don’t ever want to do this, I’ll understand; we can just…”

“But I do.” He smiled wryly. “I still want to kiss you.”

“Oh.” Mairon had been sure that moment was gone. “What if…I’ll put my hands behind my back, and I’ll promise to keep them there. Do you think that might work?” He clasped his hands behind him as he spoke.

“It’s worth a try.” Celebrimbor approached carefully. Running his fingers down Mairon’s cheek, he gazed into his eyes. Mairon hoped desperately that he liked what he saw there. He brushed his thumb over Mairon’s lips, sending desire shooting through him, and claimed him more forcefully than before. Mairon pressed the length of his body to Tyelpë's, and when that was all right, he rolled his hips, grinding their hardening cocks together. Celebrimbor gasped softly, but this time it was a good sound. Grasping Mairon's hair, he pulled his head to the side and kissed his throat, biting and sucking bruises into the soft skin of his neck, just below his ear and trailing down. He pushed Mairon's collar up and gently massaged away the line it left.

Mairon melted into the touch. He rested against Tyelpë's shoulder and let him do as he pleased. Tyelpë bit down hard where his shoulder met his neck and held it. Mairon cried out in delighted pain, holding as still as he could, shaking as it grew to nigh unbearable. Just as he thought he could take no more, Tyelpë released him, soothing the spot with little kisses, holding him when Mairon's legs threatened to give way. Mairon twisted enough to meet his lips and kissed him fervently. 

“Not too much, then?” Tyelpë smiled.

“Never.” Mairon almost raised his hand to caress Tyelpë's ear, but he remembered himself in time and did it with his lips instead, locking his fingers together more tightly behind him. Tyelpë moaned as he ran his tongue over the little gold loops adorning the edge, and Mairon's cock twitched in his already painfully tight breeches. “Tyelpë?” he murmured. “I would really, really like to suck your cock right now.”

Celebrimbor stilled, and Mairon wondered if he'd gone too far. “I don't think I can give you anything in return,” he said at last. 

Mairon relaxed. “I don't need you to. I just want to make you feel good. Can I do that?”

Biting his lip, Celebrimbor nodded, and Mairon sank to his knees. “I'm gonna need a little help here if I can't use my hands.” He nuzzled against Celebrimbor's groin, mouthing at his thick cock through several layers of clothing. Hastily Tyelpë pulled up his shirt and unfastened his breeches. Holding his gaze, Mairon reverently kissed his erection, licking from root to tip before finally taking it in his mouth. He loved the taste, the weighty feel of it, all the little sounds Tyelpë made that drove him on, the way he couldn't help thrusting as Mairon swallowed around him. Here at least, he didn't miss his hands; he'd done this bound often enough not to need them.

Tyelpë’s fingers tightened in Mairon’s hair as he came. Mairon swallowed, grinning up at Tyelpë, absurdly pleased with himself. Tyelpë caught a drop that was running down Mairon’s chin and held it to Mairon’s lips, where he lapped it up obligingly. 

“Well,” Celebrimbor said when he’d regained his breath. “This isn’t quite how I’d envisioned the evening.”

Mairon climbed to his feet. He ached to come himself, but that could wait. It mattered far less than Tyelpë’s comfort. “Good though, right?”

“So very good. Annatar…I know things are complicated, but…I really want this.”

Mairon smiled, his eyes shining. “Between the two of us, I think we can handle complicated.”

*

Melkor rose to greet him when Mairon entered, still floating on the euphoria of Tyelpë’s words and the salt-musk taste of him at the back of his throat, but as he approached, Melkor scowled. 

“What is this?” Melkor stroked the side of his neck.

Mairon’s stomach clenched. “My lord…you said it was all right. That I could be with Tyelpë, and you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t recall saying he could send my property back to me covered in his marks.” Melkor pressed his thumb hard into the darkest bruise. 

Mairon gasped and whimpered, doing his best not to pull away. He resented that word, _property,_ but he could see now was not the time to argue. “My lord…please…”

“Hmmph. You reek of him. Wash before you come to bed.”

When he was clean, Mairon knelt at Melkor’s feet. Weary now and anxious, he struggled to summon enough power to dry his hair. Melkor reached out and did it for him.

“My lord…” he began as the silence stretched. “Is that to be your rule? No marks on me? I don't know if I can always—”

“Hush. Come here.” Melkor pulled him onto the bed beside him. His eyes glinted in the dim light. “There’s always going to be some trace on you; you can't help that.”

That sounded less reassuring than it should have with the silkily predatory tone that had crept into Melkor's voice.

“I won't forbid it; that would make things quite difficult for a little creature who loves pain so well, wouldn't it, my precious?”

Hesitantly Mairon gave the nod Melkor seemed to be waiting for.

“You'll just have to be prepared to accept the consequences.”

“The—?” But Melkor's lips were on his bruised shoulder, and then he bit down. If Mairon had thought himself on the edge of what he could take before, it was only because he’d forgotten the depths of pain he could descend to in Melkor's grasp. He broke through skin and kissed away blood, moved over and broke it again. Mairon howled and sobbed at the relentless torment of already tender flesh, but his body responded with breathtaking eagerness, and he came embarrassingly quickly over Melkor's hand.

“You doing all right, precious?”

Mairon nodded, whimpering softly, shaking with pain and pleasure.

“Good, because I'm not finished.” Melkor arranged him with his head down and his ass in the air. Mairon let himself be moved like a toy, taking advantage of the pause while Melkor slicked himself with oil to wipe his tears away. His anxiousness was gone, replaced by a deep, spreading warmth. Melkor would never have let him come if he were seriously displeased. In the morning he might feel differently, but right now he was exactly where he wanted to be, and his body hummed with satisfaction. Melkor took him too fast and too hard, forcing desperate little cries from him with every thrust, but that soon turned to pleasure too, and he came again, clenching around Melkor's cock.

“My lord,” he murmured, lying wholly spent and blissful in Melkor's arms, “if you meant that to deter me, I don't think it worked.”

Melkor just snorted and pulled him closer.

*

Celebrimbor was waiting for him at the edge of town so they could walk out to his home together. His eyes widened when Mairon drew near, and he pushed Mairon's robe away from his neck. Mairon sighed; he had thought he’d hidden it better.

“Did I…I really didn't think I…” He stared at the angry red and purple bruise that covered Mairon's shoulder.

Mairon blushed and shrugged his robe back into place. “Calm down, only a fraction of that was yours. Melkor was feeling a little jealous; that's all.”

Celebrimbor winced. “I'm sorry! I don't want him hurting you because of me! Is there anything—” 

“I said it’s fine! Tyelpë…” Mairon couldn't bear the anguish in his face. “Tyelpë, you know I like pain with sex. And you surely remember how I used to push you to hurt me more than you were comfortable with.” It occurred to Mairon that perhaps he'd been too pushy in numerous ways back then. He filed the thought away for later.

Celebrimbor was nodding reluctantly.

“This doesn't begin to go past the bounds of what I can enjoy, all right? Melkor knows what he's doing with me. If this is how he always chooses to deal with his feelings, I will be very content.”

“But…” Celebrimbor shook his head and sighed. “You’re happy with that? And he would stop if you told him to?”

Mairon wasn’t sure; he'd never needed to stop so desperately that it was worth the risk of finding out if he really couldn't. But Tyelpë didn't need to know everything. “Of course.”

“I'll try not to worry, then.”

The countryside they passed through was bursting with green. Gardens surrounded the occasional houses with flowers and vegetables; hedgerows resounded with singing birds. The day was bright, but the sunshine didn't feel quite as painful to Mairon as it had before. Perhaps it was the distraction of good company. 

“About that…” Tyelpë began. “All those games we used to share in bed…bondage and pain and…I can't do that again. Maybe not ever. Not on the receiving end, anyway.”

“Tyelpë, I—”

He hadn’t finished. “I was thinking about that, after last night, what I could and couldn't do, what I wanted to try again eventually, and I thought...maybe I shouldn't’ve bitten you at all; maybe it wasn't fair when I can't trade places anymore, and I shouldn’t’ve presumed—”

“Tyelpë, please. I can't do that to you again. Not even if you wanted it.” The thought of it stirred a rising panic in him; he struggled to fight it down. “Last night was really good, okay? You can hurt me if you want, you can not hurt me if you want; I don't expect anything like what you're…I don't want…I can't—I can't ever hurt you again!” He broke into tears, but he was relieved—he could still breathe, and the nightmare images in the back of his mind for once stayed at bay.

Tyelpë came near. “Is it all right if I touch you?”

Mairon nodded and leaned into him, crying into his hands as Tyelpë wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, it’s just…thinking of that comes too near my worst memories, and…you shouldn't have to take care of me like this, I'm sorry.”

“I understand; it’s all right. I wish I didn't have to bring it up, but I thought it had to be said.” He rubbed Mairon's back. “It’s not much farther now; we’re almost there.”

“All right.” Mairon wiped his face, though the tears hadn't quite stopped. Celebrimbor kept an arm around him as they walked on down the road. A shady side lane brought them to a little cottage with a slate roof, surrounded by massive oaks and holly trees. Mairon reached out and touched a branch. “You used to wear crowns of this stuff, full of berries…”

“Especially at Midwinter.” Celebrimbor smiled. “Remember when you tried to catch me under the mistletoe and got a face full of prickles instead?”

“Oh, I remember. I remember how I got my own back that ni—” _No._ He shut the door on that thought quickly, before he could go past Tyelpë laughing and squirming over his knees. He sighed. “Is there nothing that remains unsullied?”

“It hurts less if you give it time.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that.”

“I have no doubt we’ll be able to laugh about all the good days again. Come on, the forge is around back.”

There was no mistaking the piece Celebrimbor had wanted to show him; even in pieces it filled the center of the room. A huge gate leaned against the workbench, reaching almost to the ceiling, but despite its size it looked incredibly delicate. Swans swam and flew across it, so lifelike they almost seemed to move. They were covered in silver leaf, with gold on their beaks and sapphires for eyes. Cattails and marsh plants surrounded them in a frame of lacy steel that vined toward the sky. Mairon stepped closer, admiring Celebrimbor's impeccable craftsmanship and the way every piece fit perfectly together.

“It's for Lady Eärwen, to go at the entrance to her palace gardens,” Celebrimbor said. “With all the precision scientific equipment I make these days, it was really nice to get a chance to play like this.”

“That is a truly impressive gate for a garden.”

“They’re impressive gardens.”

Mairon walked around it, looking from every side. It was incredibly Elvish, but he found he didn't mind that like he once had. Especially not when it was Tyelpë’s doing. For a moment, he let himself imagine dragons instead of swans, and wondered what it would be like to feel so safe that a gate could be simple decoration. “It's beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“What kind of equipment have you built here?” He'd noticed a hammer that looked suspiciously similar to the water-powered one they'd invented together. They spent the rest of the afternoon poring over all of Celebrimbor's tools and machinery.

“Will you stay for supper?” Celebrimbor asked when the sun began to drop toward the horizon.

“Sure.” He trailed along as Celebrimbor gathered greens from his garden and stuck root vegetables into the coals on his hearth to roast. 

“Have you given any thought to what you might want to make someday? I know you're concentrating on other things right now, but that won't always be the same.”

“I…haven't, really.” Mairon hadn't thought about creating new things in…quite some time. “I'm still struggling to find my footing here, and…I haven't been looking ahead.”

“There's all the time you need.”

Mairon nodded slowly. That seemed strangely comforting. Hopeful, even.

When they’d finished eating, Tyelpë held out his hand to Mairon.

“Are you sure?” Mairon asked.

“I'm not going to live in fear of what I want.”

Mairon rested his fingertips on Tyelpë’s raised palm. They sat like that together until the stars came out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still counts as slow burn, though, right??


	28. Begging

The warm scent of leather brought pleasant memories to Mairon as he braided. Melkor had disappeared with Geleth into an unused workshop—whether he meant to actually let her try cutting some gemstone rough or only to show her samples, Mairon wasn’t sure—and Mairon had taken advantage of his absence to work on a little project. The lasting bruise Melkor had given him had wakened a craving for other, harsher pleasures they used to share, and he thought he was at last whole and content enough to enjoy them again. He shivered as he plaited strands together into round tails with sturdy knots at each end, imagining how deeply he would feel every strike.

He paused, thinking he heard footsteps, and quickly tucked the flogger away. He wanted it to remain a surprise for Melkor, but more importantly, it seemed irresponsible and perhaps even cruel to let Geleth happen upon it unwarned. Glancing out the window, he realized Aulë should be finished with his teaching by now anyway. Rándil was old enough to start learning the chase, and they were ready for a first training run with Celegorm.

Aulë looked up as Mairon slipped into his office. “Mairon! Good timing. I have the report here on Melkor’s mushroom filtration systems. They’re working well except for one or two; the data’s all here. I would really like to speak to Melkor himself about them; do you think you could get him to see me?”

Mairon straightened his shoulders. Melkor had made clear how little he wanted to deal with Aulë, and Mairon would see that he didn’t have to. “My lord has appointed me his liaison in these matters; any questions you have should go through me.”

Blinking at Mairon’s sudden formality, Aulë let him gently tug the report from his fingers. “Yes, I gathered that. I only wanted…look, please tell him it’s ingenious, and I truly appreciate it, and that if he ever feels like just having a friendly chat as colleagues, he’s always welcome.”

He looked so sincere that Mairon couldn't help but relax and share the truth. “I’ll tell him, but you shouldn’t expect anything to come of it. He can’t think of you as a colleague, not…not while he’s _imprisoned_ here.” More anger than he’d intended bled through, and fearing he’d overstepped, he dropped his head in a bow. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

Aulë rose and put his arm around Mairon. “I know this is hard. I’m really proud of you and all that you’re doing. I don’t think Manwë will ever risk granting him his freedom, but there’s room for things to get better. Give it a few centuries, let him show that he means no harm to anyone, and we’ll see what we can do, all right?”

Mairon knew how generous and reasonable that was, but he had to choke back a snarl of protest. He could live with the expansive and politely seldom-mentioned bounds of his parole, but Melkor’s confines and the limits of what he could bear were both far narrower, and Mairon saw how much it grated at him. But no one would offer them more, and he was sure many thought their situation too lax already. There wasn’t anything else to do. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Of course. Now, what did you need? No one’s been leaving a mess for your students again, have they? I did scold them about that; you always leave the place neat as a pin for them.”

“No, there’s been no more trouble. I wanted to tell you I’m planning to be away for a few days on a hunting trip. I'm headed out tomorrow. It won’t be long, less than a week.”

Aulë’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “I don’t know about that. It’s one thing to send you out on a trip when someone’s expecting you at the other end and will notice if you don’t show up on time. It’s something else to let you go wandering around anywhere you please.”

“But…it’s just a few days in the woods.” Mairon was taken aback; Aulë had been so accommodating. He hadn’t expected this.

“No, I can’t let you do that. Not by yourself.”

“I…wasn’t going to be on my own. I was going to be with Celegorm.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s fine, then! Why didn’t you say so? I’ll let Oromë know to check in with him once or twice. Just have Celegorm drop by and see me before you leave.” 

Mairon nodded agreement, teeth clenched to keep from saying something he would regret.

*

“Well that was humiliating.” He tossed the report down on Melkor’s desk, glad that they were alone.

“What happened?”

“All this time I had thought I was merely notifying Aulë of my whereabouts whenever I travel, and here it turns out I’m actually begging his permission, which is only granted if I have an approved babysitter.” 

“Indeed. How very humiliating. I can’t imagine.”

Mairon scowled. “Don’t laugh at me. I know you have it worse. I’m still angry.”

“Come here.” Melkor gestured to the floor, and Mairon fell to his knees at his feet, laying his head wearily in his lap. Melkor stroked him gently. “Little flame, it’s not forever. There will be a day when you answer only to me once more.”

Mairon sighed, unwilling to even begin addressing all the assumptions packed into those words. He let Melkor’s fingers twining through his hair and caressing his back chase away his frustration. “I made something for you,” he murmured when Melkor had lulled him almost to sleep. Shaking himself awake, he retrieved the flogger and presented it to Melkor kneeling. 

Melkor raised an eyebrow, trying to look stern, but the amusement in his voice gave him away. “Is this a present for me or a present for yourself?” 

“Can’t it be both?”

“Were you hoping I would try it on you tonight?”

Mairon nodded, leaning on Melkor's thighs and gazing up at him pleadingly. 

Melkor's eyes took on a wicked twinkle. “I don't think you remember what begging really feels like. Come, show me you want it.”

Mairon glared, hurt that Melkor would keep mocking him, but the more he considered, the more he realized that nothing would clear away the bad taste of his talk with Aulë so quickly as submerging himself in his master's will. Still he couldn't quite stomach that order. “Could you please slap me first?”

“Too full of yourself to manage, is that it?”

Mairon's breath hitched as he nodded. Melkor had taken him roughly, thrown him around, indulged their mutual enjoyment of his pain, but since the night he'd walked out and gone to Nienna, he'd been leery of stating any demands that Mairon might find objectionable. Admitting his difficulty in obeying put them both on treacherous ground. “Please make me,” he whispered.

That quiet plea was enough. Melkor grasped his hair to hold him steady and struck him hard. Heat flamed across his cheek. Drawing his hand back farther, Melkor slapped him again, then shoved his face down to his boots. “Have you forgotten where you belong, little flame? Whatever’s happened to your respect for your lord?”

Mairon made himself ignore the double meaning those words could so easily hold. He'd asked for this, and Melkor knew better than to take it as more than his expression of love. Didn't he? Mairon couldn't question that now, not without losing this moment. Softly he kissed his master's feet. He'd felt this swelling devotion not so long ago; where had it been? _Lórien,_ he realized. In the snippets he'd witnessed of Melkor's dreams. In the vision of his power used to regenerate, to build. _As once we raised mountains and delved caverns together._ If only he could be _that_ always…Mairon would be proud to serve and to worship him once more.

Mairon found himself silently weeping, his lips pressed to Melkor's boots, his tears dripping on the leather.

“Little flame?”

“I'm yours, Master. Please use me as you will this night. Take my pain, take what you wish, let me please you.”

Melkor lifted him, cradling him against his chest, and carried him to the bed. “You’re crying. Is this still what you want?” 

“Yes, please!” Mairon couldn't recall many times he'd been asked so gently. “I want you; I want to feel you as long as I'm away.”

Laughing softly, Melkor kissed him and tugged off his clothes. “Hands on the wall.” He pulled Mairon up so that he knelt upright, arms stretched above him. “And beg for it.”

“Please…want to please you!”

Melkor brushed the tails of the flogger over his skin. “No, that's the easy part to say.”

Whimpering, Mairon arched his back, seeking more contact, but Melkor pulled back. “Please, Master…please whip me. Please make it hurt; I want to hurt for you.”

“Better.” 

Mairon hissed at the first sharp strike and wondered for a fleeting moment if he'd been overambitious in his design. There’d been no reason to craft this instead of something a little easier to take. Melkor kissed his neck and started again, building up sensation more slowly in rising peaks and waves. _Oh, yes. This is why._ Mairon let all tension drain from him and relaxed into the pain, accepting whatever Melkor wanted him to feel. He forgot whether the burning, stinging ache that flooded him was supposed to be torment or bliss; he only wanted more. He was floating, or falling, and he knew with utter certainty that Melkor would catch him.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when the warm fog he drifted in cleared. He rested in Melkor’s lap with his strong hands caressing him. “Hey, precious, you back with me?” Melkor asked when he stirred. 

“Mmhmm.” He pushed himself up enough to find Melkor's lips with his own. “Please,” he murmured. “Want you. Want you inside me.”

A pleased, self-satisfied smile spread across Melkor's face. “I think we can make that happen.”

*

Mairon groaned when he woke in the cold dawn light. Why had he thought last night a good idea when he’d be spending all of today on a horse? He looked over at Melkor. He was sleeping peacefully for once. A tiny smile still curved his lips. Mairon's regret evaporated. He would happily spend every day sore for that smile. Careful not to wake him yet, he leaned over and kissed Melkor's forehead, then rose and dressed. Rándil was bouncy and excited, knowing something was about to happen but not very clear on what. Mairon let him run around outside for a few minutes before reviewing his commands and giving him breakfast.

Melkor was up by the time he came back in. “Do you have a moment before you leave?”

“I have until Celegorm shows up banging on the door.”

“Come sit with me.”

Mairon curled up beside him, snuggling against his side. He felt soft and complete; the soreness of his back was pleasant now that he was moving, and the only thing he could think of that would make him happier was if Tyelpë could be holding him too. 

Melkor kissed the top of his head. “Last night…it was a beautiful gift, little flame. I only wondered…when you started crying, were you just overwhelmed, or was there something that upset you? Do you want to tell me?”

Mairon took his time. “I wasn’t upset. I just…I remembered how I felt that morning in Lórien, after I shared a little piece of your dreams.” The longing, that that vision could be their reality, hit him again, and he shivered.

“I felt you there. What did you see?”

“The mushrooms. The glacier.” 

“Ahh. I liked that dream too.”

Mairon rested against him, breathing him in with quiet joy until Celegorm arrived.

*

Celegorm had brought two horses. “I'm sure Aulë's horses are perfectly nice, and I'm also sure they'll be useless on a hunt.” He handed Mairon the reins of a handsome black gelding with a star on his forehead. “Here, your favorite color.” He grinned.

Mairon wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended at that, but…he wasn’t _wrong._

“How're you feeling about Huan?” Celegorm asked. “We can stop by Curufin's place and grab a different dog if you don't think this'll work. Huan has no equal of course, but it doesn't have to be him showing Rándil the ropes this time. Won't hurt to get him used to being around other dogs anyway.”

"Curufin's place? Not your own?"

"I spend so much time in the woods with Oromë, there's not much point in trying to keep up a house. I stay with Curufin or Ammë when I'm in town."

Mairon watched Rándil jumping on Huan gleefully as he pretended to be wrestled to the ground. “I…don't feel unsafe as long as you're nearby. And Rándil looks so happy to see him…you won't leave me alone with him?”

“I can't promise that; we’ll be out in the field and there's no predicting everything that might happen. I'll do my best, and I certainly won't abandon you on purpose.”

Mairon nodded slowly. “I can do this.”

“Great. Everything ready, then?”

“Aulë wanted to speak to you before we leave.” He turned to check the length of his stirrups and hide the embarrassment tinging his cheeks.

“Oh. All right. I hope it won't take long.”

Celegorm returned from Aulë's office with a strange look on his face. He shook his head and mounted his horse, and they rode out of town with Huan and Rándil racing ahead and circling back, tails wagging as they played.


	29. Lakeside

Mairon and Celegorm kept a slow and steady pace as they rode, not wanting to tire Rándil overmuch before they reached the woods. “Didn't you want to ask me something about wolves? Now's a great time," Mairon offered when Celegorm's uncharacteristic silence dragged out.

“Oh! Yes. Sorry, that was so awkward, the whole business with Aulë. Ugh.” He turned off the main road and led them down a dirt trail along the edge of a field. He seemed more at ease the moment his horse’s hooves left the cobblestones. “So yeah, I always wondered what made your werewolves different. I never could get close enough to observe for long, and of course I couldn’t talk to them as I would have liked.”

“Well…they weren’t just wolves. I bred for size and ferocity, and then I bound spirits to them to give them the extra intelligence I’m sure you saw. Lesser Maia for some, but mostly the strongest I could find and break among the Eldar we had in captivity.” Mairon was a little surprised to find he didn’t mind talking about it, not like this, with someone who simply wanted to know.

“Did they suffer?”

“Not after they were wolves.”

Celegorm nodded. "Some people came up with this notion that they had a strict hierarchy within their packs, almost like an army unit, with a first and a second in command that the others would always submit to. I never had the evidence to talk them out of it. Surely they weren't right?"

Mairon tried to stop laughing enough to answer. "I wish we could have kept each orc band that organized. No, werewolf packs were family groups just like regular wolves, and you're welcome to tell anyone I said so."

“Can you still turn into a wolf? That could be all kinds of useful.”

Mairon shook his head. “Can't transform at all anymore.” 

“Ouch. That must suck.”

“Mmm. There are things I miss worse.”

“Can you turn me into a wolf?”

“Did you hear what I just… Why would you…” He didn't bother finishing the question; he could see the answer in Celegorm's face. “It wouldn't be what you think. You wouldn't get your exciting little adventure.”

“Isn’t that a different matter from making werewolves, though? Sounds like an adventure to me.”

Mairon wondered how much he should say and opted for the truth. If Celegorm didn't want to hear it, he should’ve thought about who he was asking. “You wouldn't know who you were by the time you were changed, and I couldn't turn you back. Your fëa would be in too many pieces.” He let that sink in. “The way I know to do these things isn't pretty, and it isn't nice.”

To his relief, Celegorm seemed unperturbed. “Ah well. It was worth a shot.”

The stretch of forest Celegorm had chosen was only an hour or so past the last farmhouse Mairon had seen, but it felt more than enough remote. They spent much of the day practicing scentwork in short sessions with plenty of time for Rándil to rest and play and explore in between; Celegorm took a rather smelly piece of deerhide and made trails for the little wolf to follow. Mairon was pleased with his quick progress.

“I know a good place to cool down,” Celegorm said when they decided Rándil had worked as much as a puppy could manage. “There’s a nice lake not too far from here.”

“Lead on!”

By the time they reached the banks, Mairon was reconsidering. He didn’t mind being naked ordinarily, but he was intensely conscious of the bruises that must show starkly on his back. He busied himself with the horses while Celegorm stripped and jumped into the water with a huge splash. “Come on in!” he shouted. “It’s not too cold!”

Mairon shook his head. “That’s all right; I’d rather sit here.” He slipped off his boots and rolled up his breeches enough to get his feet wet. Celegorm was right; the water was perfect, just cold enough to feel pleasant on so warm a day. It would feel wonderful to get in and wash off…maybe Celegorm wouldn’t notice his marks? No, Mairon knew better. Nothing got past him; it was what made him such a good hunter. But as he watched Celegorm swim back and forth, he saw a smattering of tiny purple bruises spread like freckles across his shoulders and upper back, with an occasional longer stripe. Mairon suspected it mirrored his own back closely.

He bit his lip, wondering if it was safe to bring it up. Surely Celegorm wouldn't bare them if he wasn’t willing to talk about it. “Hey, Celegorm! Did you get in trouble, or is that the trace of a really fun night I see?”

Celegorm looked up with widening eyes and a growing grin as he realized what Mairon meant. “Loads of fun! Why do you ask?”

Mairon was already pulling off his clothes to follow him into the lake. “Because I bet mine are darker!”

Celegorm's grin turned wolfish. “Now that's no fair contest. I can't see my own back to judge. On the other hand…” He stood in the waist-high shallows where Mairon had entered and moved around him. “You don't seem to have a single bruise on your sides. Afraid to let a blow wrap around?”

Just the thought of it made Mairon pull his arms around himself to protect his tender ribs. “Eww, no! I hate that.” Melkor never let a lash stray there unless Mairon was being punished or he was feeling exceptionally cruel.

“Ha! Then I win!” Celegorm proudly raised his arms to show off the long, thin marks curving around to end on his chest.

Mairon shuddered. “Yeah, okay, you win.” He splashed Celegorm and gave chase when Celegorm splashed him back and, laughing, bolted for deeper water. Mairon didn't have the energy to keep up the game for long. Swimming over to one side where a grove of willows trailed their branches in the water, he floated in the shade, watching the reflected sunlight play on the leaves. Rándil sprawled asleep on the shore while Huan lay nearby keeping guard. After a while Mairon joined him, stretching out to let the breezes dry him off.

“So. You and Mor—Melkor.” They both lay on the grass, basking in the sunshine. Celegorm glanced his way. “I wouldn't have guessed you'd be into pain like that. Taking it, that is.”

Mairon drew a ragged breath. He knew what Celegorm wasn’t saying—it was only unexpected because everyone in Beleriand had feared the glee he had taken in torturing others. But that wasn't the conversation they were having. He carefully kept his tone light, focusing on his curiosity. “I wouldn't have guessed it a pastime that exists in Aman at all. Or that many could be found here who want to wield a whip.”

“Oromë always said he thought of it first.”

Mairon snorted and thought back to his early days with Melkor in Almaren when his lover, terrifying and captivating in turn, had first taught him the pleasures of pushing the bounds of sensation. He remembered the thrill of pursuing forbidden knowledge and the elation of discovering just how fiercely his desires could burn. “Convergent development, perhaps. At any rate, I heard no such things of him or his Maiar in the light of the Lamps.”

Celegorm shrugged. “Who knows. Too many would consider it a tainted art if they thought it came solely from you and yours, and that would be a sad loss.”

“So…you have a fellow hunter who's dear?” Mairon sought to lead away from thoughts that ached.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Celegorm smirked. “I have _the_ Hunter.”

“You’re with Lord Oromë? But I thought…Lady Vána…”

“Oh no, he has her, too. They're still very happy. There’s no allowance and no word for a person to wed more than one, but…he and I have made our own vows. We consider ourselves spouses and don’t care too much for anyone else’s opinion.”

Mairon took a moment to consider. He wasn’t sure what shook him more, the existence of three people happily sharing a relationship—here, in the Blessed Realm, with an _elf_ involved—or that there was someone else who dared to love so high above their station. “But that would mean…you and I are the only two people in the world who love a Vala and aren't Valar ourselves.”

“Huh. I hadn't thought of that. I guess we are.”

“How does that work?” Mairon asked. “Is he your master?”

“Uhh…he's Master of the Hunt?”

“But do you…does he…you obey him?”

“I…obey him as a rider of the Hunt. Most of the time. Do you mean like…every day? He's my husband, not my lord.”

“But how…He’s a Vala.”

“That doesn't matter between us. It took a while to get to that point, I suppose…I certainly held a lot more awe towards him early on, and then in Beleriand…ehh, lots of things were weird then. It's…I dunno, how does it work when any king weds a commoner? Ugh, that doesn't quite fit either. Socially, we may not be equals, but when it’s me and him, when we’re together as spouses, we're just us, we treat each other the same. Does that answer you?”

Mairon nodded. “So the bruises, then, the pain…that's purely enjoyment for you? Are you…equals in that, as well?” That's what he'd assumed to begin with; after all, he and Tyelpë had done something similar, switching back and forth and turning the exploration of their bodies into a lighthearted game. But that a Vala could do the same…

“Isn't it for you?” Celegorm seemed suddenly tense.

“It's enjoyment, yes, but…” Mairon took a breath and decided if he were going to poke so thoroughly into Celegorm's private life, the least he could do was share his own. “A lot of what I enjoy is how completely _His_ it makes me feel. Sometimes it's easy, but sometimes it isn't, at all, and yet…that can be the best, when I have to struggle to give him everything. It means more to me then. It might not always look like enjoyment, but it is, its own special kind.”

“Ah, I get you. I don't feel that way myself often, but I know people who do. No, for me it's more about the challenge, the thrill, the sense of how strong I am to endure…though I do like the feeling of being completely overpowered…and sometimes it just plain feels good. And yeah, we’re still equals then, though we might pretend we aren't, at times. If you mean…umm…usually I’m on the bottom, but occasionally my lovely husband likes to take a turn as my prey. And when Lady Vána graces us with her company, we turn him into a desperate, pleading mess between us.” Celegorm clapped a hand to his mouth. “I probably shouldn't be talking about her. None of this gets repeated, clear?”

“Absolutely. If you don't mind, though, since you've already brought her up…you and she don't ever get jealous? Or have any hard feelings, or wish you didn't have to deal with sharing?”

“Hmm…I don't really get jealous, it's just not me? I guess…our arrangement works really well for me partly because I need my time alone. I couldn't stand being with someone who wanted to cling and be constantly touching like…bloody Maedhros and Fingon.” Celegorm made an exaggerated gagging sound. “Always hanging on each other. Fucking gross.”

Mairon studiously kept his expression blank. He had a feeling he had more in common with Maedhros in that regard.

“We all have our own lives outside of our relationship, and that helps, not relying solely on each other for everything,” Celegorm continued. “Means we don't lose our shit when we can't have whatever we want right when we want it. And for the rest…I guess we've gotten very good at talking about what we need. Not that there's never disagreements or hard feelings, but…we try to be generous and trust that we have each other's best interests at heart, and that goes a long way, I think.” He looked at Mairon curiously. “That's a lot of very personal questions. Something on your mind?”

Mairon worried at his lip. “I think…I wish I had more of what you do. Part of me wishes I could be more equal with Melkor, and part of me wants only to kneel at his feet and belong wholly to him, only I can't let myself do that, not in everything, not like I did. It’s confusing, and I don't know how I’d go about changing things anyway. And now there's Celebrimbor—” 

Celegorm snapped to full attention. “What about Celebrimbor?”

“We’re taking things slow.” Mairon wasn’t sure he was ready to share that, but he'd already said too much. He hoped Tyelpë wouldn't mind. “We’re seeing each other again. We're…together.”

“After what you did?!” Celegorm growled. “If you hurt so much as a single hair—”

“I know, I know, you'll kill me slowly and painfully, and your brothers will kill me again when you’re done.” Celegorm digested this in silence. “If you can't trust me yet, I understand, but please trust your nephew. He knows what he wants and he knows what he's doing. And I love him, and I would never do anything to make him the slightest bit unhappy.”

Celegorm held his gaze and at last sighed. “Okay. Let's say I don't doubt your sincerity. Here's the thing, though—I don't like the thought of him being involved with Morgoth through you. What happens when he grows jealous? When he decides he’s had enough of, I don't know, your 'divided loyalties’? Can you really look me in the eye and tell me Celebrimbor will never be in any danger from him?”

“I will not let him come to harm.”

“That’s not what I asked, now is it? How long before Morgoth takes a disliking to our Tyelpë?”

“He would never hurt someone I care about. And please, you don't have to like him, but if you want to be my friend, you do have to refrain from calling him that insult.”

“Mairon…I didn't want to have to say this, but I don't think you realize what risk you're taking on. You're one thing. You're sorry for what you did and what you were. You've made that very clear, and you're taking steps to fix things. You can't really; you can't give people back their lives or the years of suffering you've taken from them, and Valar, I know that as well as anyone. But you're trying, and I respect that. Morgoth—” He sighed. “Melkor isn’t. I get that you've loved him forever, but you need to step back and truly take a look. He isn't trying, and if he's sorry at all, he's kept it completely to himself. Why would anyone trust him, Mairon? Honestly I don't understand what the Valar are even doing. They gave him a second chance once already, and he blew it. He doesn't deserve the same deal you're getting, and he doesn't deserve you. You’re confused about your relationships? You want my advice? Dump Melkor's ass, and go be happy with Tyelpë. And don't forget that I'll kill you if you hurt him again.”

Mairon was speechless. He tried to form arguments, to leap to Melkor's defense, but nothing would come out. He stared up at the sky and struggled to forget the brutal words ringing in his ears. As he lay fighting back tears, counting the clouds as they drifted overhead, a single soft memory stayed with him. _“I liked that dream too.”_ Maybe Melkor hadn’t meant much by it in the quiet of the morning, but something about it…Mairon refused to give up. Just because Melkor wasn’t pouring out his heart to everyone didn't mean he would never make changes. Mairon didn't think he was deceiving himself that Melkor wanted peace too. Maybe not on the same terms Mairon was willing to accept, but peace nevertheless.

“What would it take?” Mairon asked softly.

“Hmm?” 

“What would it take to get you to accept Melkor too?”

Celegorm huffed. “I don't even know. He did so much…Everything you did to us is on him as well, and so much more…I don't begin to know.”

“Do you think it's possible?”

“I don't know. I won't say it isn't; I don't believe in that. But it wouldn't be easy.”

“Nothing has been.”

“I suppose not. Hey, you aren't mad at me, are you? I feel like maybe I shouldn't have said so much.”

“No.” Mairon sighed. “I appreciate the honesty. But maybe that’s enough for right now.”


	30. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for brief cruelty to animals

Mairon rose early and walked down to a nearby creek to fill his waterskin while Celegorm finished packing his gear onto the horses. There wasn't much; he traveled light. They'd talked long into the evening, telling stories and trading fond reminiscences of the woodlands of Beleriand. Mairon found, once he started, that he remembered much which wasn’t overly tinged with enmity, pleasant moments he hadn’t thought about in long ages. And then he mentioned the wilds of the East, and was begged for descriptions of lands Celegorm had never gotten to see. It had been a good evening, and neither had returned to their earlier conversation. Mairon was glad of that; he wasn’t sure what to make of Celegorm's words. That he would stand by Melkor until it became impossible, he knew, but a part of him wondered uneasily how justified his concern for Tyelpë might be. 

Sighing, he knelt to dip his waterskin into the clear spring. When he looked up, he was face-to-face with Huan. The giant hound's nose almost touched his forehead. He froze, trembling.

 _“Little sorcerer.”_ Huan’s intonation and the set of his ears were strange, and he seemed to think hard about making himself more wolf-like so as to be understood. He spoke slowly. _“The Master likes to play with danger. He laughs with you. But I do not forget. I do not forget who you hurt. I do not forget how you begged between my teeth. I am watching you.”_

“Watch all you like.” Mairon hated how his voice wavered. He couldn’t make it stop. “There’s nothing to see.”

Huan growled low and walked away. Mairon spat after him as he forced himself to his feet. “Filthy mutt,” he whispered under his breath. Celegorm looked at him intently when he rejoined him, holding a hand to his throat though he knew the scars were no longer there. For once he was almost relieved to have the band of brass around his neck.

“Are you all right?” Celegorm asked. “You seem a bit shaky.”

“I'm fine.”

They repeated the previous day's lessons with Rándil, and seeing that he'd gotten the idea of finding and following a trail, decided to let him and Huan go after whatever game they could turn up. The first scent Huan chased after turned out to be a doe with a young fawn at her side, and Celegorm immediately called him off. Mairon kept an eye out for interesting mushrooms as they wandered, hoping to discover one he could give to Melkor for his collection. 

“This should be a good area for rabbits,” Celegorm said as they came to a heavily thicketed bottomland. “Let's see what they can find.” He dismounted and glanced around; Huan had lost interest and was splashing in a stream. Celegorm let him enjoy himself while he readied his bow, then whistled for him. “Huan! Go look!” He pointed into a thicket. Huan took off, running from one clump of brush to the next, nose to the ground, and Rándil bounded after him. They followed behind, watching closely. It wasn't long before a rabbit sprang from the briars. 

“Be still,” Celegorm reminded him. “They'll catch it or they'll chase it back this way.” They heard crashing in the undergrowth coming towards them. Celegorm spotted the rabbit first, and took it with a clean shot to the eye. Huan ran up proudly, panting.

“Where's Rándil?” Mairon asked. “Do you hear him?” 

Celegorm listened. “Not far, I think.”

He showed up a minute later, prancing around Mairon with a rabbit in his mouth.

“Good boy! Look how good you are!”

Mairon took the rabbit by its hind legs. Rándil happily exchanged it for a treat. It squirmed, bloodied but not badly injured, but it could get no purchase in Mairon's grip. Drawing the hunting knife Celegorm had lent him, he split its skin down its belly. It would be easier to skin well if he killed it first, of course, but it had been so long since he'd had a chance to savor any creature’s pain. He shuddered at the sweetness of it. Blood spilled over his fingers, slick and warm and inviting. He gave the knife a little twist. The rabbit let out a high-pitched screech. _That's it, scream for me._

“Mairon!” Celegorm's stern voice recalled him to himself. “That’s enough! Put it out of its misery!”

Quickly he snapped its neck. That was…too close. Too close, even if it was only an animal. “I think I messed up,” he said quietly. The blood on his hands was suddenly unbearable. It was the same red as Celebrimbor’s.

“I think you did,” Celegorm agreed. “We don’t make animals suffer needlessly. That’s the rule, and if you can’t keep to it, I can’t let you hunt with me.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“All right. See that you don’t.” Celegorm took the dead rabbit from his unresisting hands and skinned and dressed it neatly himself, feeding the viscera to Rándil. 

Mairon stared at his bloody hands. He felt sick. Was that really all it would take, a moment of losing himself, to torture and enjoy it? Could he really claim that he’d never do it to an elf, when it came to him so immediately? He hadn’t thought it was all right because it was a rabbit. He hadn’t thought at all. He had held a weaker creature in his hands, and his first impulse was to hurt it. 

“There’s water and some rags in my saddlebag if you want to clean up,” Celegorm said. Mairon nodded and found them in a daze. Even with the blood wiped away, he could still smell it. He hung back, silent and listless, while Celegorm chose a campsite, built a fire, and stuck the rabbits on a pole to roast.

“Come on, sit down. I’m not angry.” 

Mairon sat where Celegorm gestured and pulled his knees to his chest.

“You okay?”

The scent of cooking meat wasn’t helping. Mairon shook his head. “No.”

“It’s gonna be all right. Shit happens. It’s not the end of the world. We’re gonna relax and enjoy a nice supper, then tomorrow we’ll head back. You can try again next time, if you still want. I expect it takes time to shake old habits.”

Mairon almost cried at Celegorm’s kindness. “I don’t think I can eat.” 

“All right. That’s fine too. Anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“I…don’t think I need to feel better right now. I think…I think I just need some space.”

“Noted. I’ll shut up then.”

Night came, and Mairon couldn’t sleep. He curled into a tight ball, alternately shaking and silently weeping. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Celebrimbor’s blood dripping from his hands. He reached for Nienna’s music, but even plunged into the depths of sorrow he couldn’t blot out the sight. If he managed to get his mind off Tyelpë, there were others waiting behind him. Finrod. Maeglin. Maedhros. So many whose names he'd never known. Would it be so easy to step back into who he had been, if they were at his mercy? Did everything he'd fought for mean so little? A furry head nudged at his face. 

“Rándil?” But he felt the wolf pup still sprawled asleep and oblivious at his back.

_“Would you accept my company, little sorcerer?”_

Mairon looked up in fright, but Huan’s eyes reflected the starlight from several feet away. He must have backed up the moment Mairon moved.

_“It pains you, the bad thing.”_

“Yes,” Mairon whispered. “But I’m told that doesn’t actually fix it.”

Huan huffed and dropped down beside him. Despite how he flinched, Mairon didn’t push him away. _“I don’t like when people are sad. You listened to the Master. That’s good. He’ll help you be good, if you listen to him.”_

Mairon wasn’t sure he needed a dog’s opinion of his morality, but he was desperate enough for comfort to take whatever he could get. In the dark he could almost pretend the huge body stretched against him was Draugluin or Carcharoth, and sandwiched between the hound and his wolf, he finally drifted into a dreamless sleep.

*

Mairon slumped against Melkor when he met him at the door, but he saw how Melkor winced from a slight brush against his palm. No begging to be carried to bed, then. “Your hands. What’d you do?” He searched for the jar of salve he'd prepared.

“I was working with Geleth earlier. You should be glad, we’re getting to some practical material.”

“Well, you overdid it.” He steered Melkor to the couch and arranged him where they could both sit comfortably. He'd need to sing for a while to ease the pain written on Melkor's face. He usually hid it far better.

“Mairon. Almost anything I do is overdoing. I'm not going to stop because of a little pain.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I wish you didn't have to bear it.” _I wish you'd never touched those wretched stones._ But he'd never dare to voice that aloud. “If you'd let me do this every day, they wouldn't get so bad.”

Melkor scoffed but had nothing to say.

Later, all of his power poured out, Mairon snuggled against Melkor’s side, weary and glad to be home. Too many unsettling things rattled around his mind. He knew he'd have to think more on what he'd done to the rabbit; that mustn't happen again. But he couldn't handle it tonight. Instead he focused on Celegorm’s rant about Melkor. Regardless of how Melkor felt, it might be worthwhile to change how he was perceived. He struggled to find the right words, ones that wouldn’t immediately anger his lord. When had that become so difficult? Once he could tell Melkor anything at all, no matter how unflattering or contradictory. Once Melkor had valued that. Then he’d been taken away, and when he returned with the Silmarils…everything had changed. When the Noldor showed up at their gates with Fëanor at their head, Mairon had said exactly what he thought of Melkor’s actions, and Melkor had smacked him across the room. After that, he’d chosen to curb his tongue, to speak as diplomatically as he could manage, and to take whatever corrective measures were necessary on his own if Melkor wouldn’t listen. He’d _promised_ to listen… Mairon swallowed the tears that threatened to rise at that thought and gathered his courage. This was important.

“My lord?”

“Hmm?” Melkor resumed stroking his hair.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I believe there's only so much my efforts for us can achieve. I wondered if maybe you’d consider making some small gesture of goodwill o-or even reconciliation towards the elves? It wou—”

Melkor pressed a finger to Mairon’s lips, and he hushed instantly. “Don’t ask me that.” His voice was sharp enough to make Mairon tremble, but it seemed no reprimand was forthcoming. “I can’t think of that right now.” He must have seen the questions in Mairon’s eyes, though he tried to keep them to himself. “That isn’t a no, and it certainly isn’t a yes. It is exactly what I said, and no more.”

“I understand, my lord. Forgive me for bringing it up.”

Mairon thought the discussion had ended there, but after a while, Melkor spoke again. “You and Geleth.” He snorted dismissively. “One would almost think you were in league.”

“Did…something happen?” _Is she all right?_

“You won't guess what she had the gall to say to me. ‘Oh, my lord, you could have a lot more students if you made yourself a little more approachable.’ As if I need more elf brats underfoot! What would I want with more people constantly demanding my attention, hmm? What does anyone get out of that?”

He couldn’t tell if Melkor meant it as a real question or not, but Mairon answered anyway. “I like how it feels to watch my students improve and start to really achieve things. To know my work is behind it. That their success is partially mine.”

“They won’t ever give you credit. Don’t get too attached, little flame. I promise you, every one of these elves whose friendship and gratitude you cherish now will reject you sooner or later and disavow any connection to you or worth gained from your teaching, and no good will ever come to you from their works.”

The depth of bitterness in his words hurt Mairon just to hear. “Why do you say that?”

“I tried it once before. And you know how that ended.”

“I don’t—”

“Fëanor?”

“Oh.” Melkor had never told the full story, and the hints he'd let slip over the years had come with many variations—that Fëanor had been an apprentice who stole the secrets to making the Silmarils, that he’d collaborated on them with Melkor and then claimed them for himself, that he'd made them as the culmination of his studies with Melkor and refused to turn over his masterpiece as agreed. None of them had ever seemed like reason enough to destroy the ellon’s family and ruin his people, but perhaps that was only because Mairon hated the gems so much. Melkor had certainly thought otherwise. “I never understood how that happened,” Mairon offered tentatively. “Why he would turn on you like he did. It never made sense.”

“Determined to ask all the unpleasant questions tonight, are you?”

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me anything.” He kissed Melkor’s cheek softly and laid his head on his shoulder. He’d pushed his luck more than enough for one night. But to his surprise, Melkor reached for his tea and warmed it with a breath of power, then began to speak.

“I met him first when he was quite young, a prince desperate to put his hands upon anything that could set him apart, set him above. We…found ourselves often together. He was eager to learn, and I…I took great solace in his company. We shared much, even though he was only an elf—a thirst to shape the world, minds that flew down paths no one else perceived, brothers who grieved us daily. And before long…look, Mairon, we fucked. A lot. We were all over each other. I think…we were both fiercely hungry for anyone to care.” Melkor was watching him intently and trying to hide it. “I should have told you long ago.”

The jealousy Mairon had always felt towards that particular obsession of his master reared its head, stronger than ever, but Mairon refused to give it sway. It was long since over, and he'd done much the same. “It's all right. I never wanted you to deny yourself what comfort you could find there, and it's not my place anyway. I'm glad you had someone. I'm not sure I can be glad it was him…” He gave Melkor a wry smile. “Did you love him?”

Melkor tilted his head. “I don't know that I would call it that. But then what I feel seldom seems to line up with what other people say. So who knows? What matters is that I had a little span of happiness in my exile, and I came to trust him. That was my great mistake. He met that girl on one of his wilderness trips, and then—it isn't that I thought it would last forever; I knew I was coming home to you as soon as I could, and he was always talking about how he wanted a houseful of children; I knew he'd find someone who could give him that eventually. But the way it happened…at first it was ‘Nerdanel this’ and ‘Nerdanel that,’ and then it became ‘Mahtan says.’ I was no longer welcome in his bed, and before I knew what had happened, I wasn’t welcome in his forge either. The only one whose advice he sought on his work anymore was Mahtan, the girl’s father.” He drew a long breath, and Mairon realized it was ever so slightly shaky.

“He created the Silmarils using lore I had taught him, secrets I learned in the deep places of the earth, cunning that you and I had devised together. His fame and glory as a smith was, in that hour, everything he had longed for. But when questions and rumors began to fly—‘Is this what you learned of the Dark Vala?’ ‘Did Melkor have a hand in their creation?’ ‘Weren’t you his student?’—Fëanor betrayed me. I know not if Mahtan poisoned his mind toward me or if he was so greedy for praise that he couldn't bear to share it, but he denied ever having befriended me. And worse—” Tears stood in Melkor's eyes, and he struggled for composure. “He told everyone that I had forced my presence on him, that every time we were seen together, I was harassing him, trying to—I don't know, beguile him into my evil plots. People believed him. Manwë believed him. There was talk of restricting me to Valmar again, even of possible further time in Mandos. He—” Melkor sobbed. “He ruined everything I had gained. Manwë told me, ‘Get to know these elves. See that they are worthy. Make some friends; share your knowledge.’ And I tried! I tried to give him what he wanted! Everything he wanted! And all of it—utterly felled on one elf's word. All of it for nothing. Void help me, I wanted to please him, Mairon! You should have seen his face on that day. You would understand everything I did after.”

Mairon reached for his lord, and Melkor let him pull him into his arms. Mairon held him and tried to soothe him as Melkor shook with sobs and his tears soaked through Mairon's shirt.

“I want you to know,” Melkor managed hoarsely, “that when everything falls apart here, when it happens again to you, I'm here for you. I will pick up the pieces and get you out, and I will take care of you. It will be all right.”

Mairon hugged him tightly. “I know you would. You've always taken care of me. I hope it won't come to that.”

Stretching out on the couch, Melkor laid his head in Mairon's lap. “I suppose I should be grateful Fëanor hasn't come looking for retribution like all your little friends. Void, that would be awful.”

“My lord…did no one tell you? He's still in Mandos. Námo won't let him leave. Not until the final battle, I was told.”

Melkor tensed. “He what?! He…that isn't fair. That isn't any kind of right. What…why?!”

“I thought you knew.”

“When they brought me here, Manwë and Nienna, they told me to keep my distance from his sons. Like that would be hard with me locked up here. They didn't say…” His voice trembled, and he hid his face in Mairon's shirt. “I didn't want him dead. I never wanted him dead. I just wanted him to be sorry.”


	31. Stitches

“When's our next trip to Lórien?” Mairon asked. He knew he should be keeping track himself; Melkor had never been trustworthy with a schedule, but he hadn’t felt…in control enough to sit down and organize their calendar. It had been easier to take the days as they came and not think too much about next week or next month or next year. 

“It’s several days from now, I believe. Are you well? The dreams aren't back, are they?”

“No, I just…I need to speak with Irmo.” The rabbit incident had shaken him, and he wasn’t sure how worried he should be. Irmo had helped him calmly and patiently so far, and though the thought of confiding in them scared him, he would do it. He had to.

“Are you sure?” Melkor rose and pulled him into his arms. “You've seemed jumpier than usual. I don't want you suffering dreams about Huan either. I thought it was a lot to ask of you, putting up with that mutt. We can go sooner if you want.”

Mairon didn't like Huan any better now than he ever had, but after waking up in a tangled pile of hound and wolf to see him sprawled on his back like a puppy with his tongue lolling out, he wasn’t quite so terrified. “I can handle Huan. It's not that. I…can we sit?” Mairon told him what had happened. He'd feared Melkor would laugh and question why it bothered him at all, but instead he was silent and thoughtful.

“You're afraid you might do the same thing to someone you care about? Is that the problem?”

Mairon nodded, relieved that he understood. “I don't want it to happen again at all. It wasn't on purpose; I wasn’t thinking.”

“Mmm. It won't do to offend your elves.” He softly kissed Mairon’s hair. “Do you want my thoughts? I have some.”

Looking up, Mairon searched his gaze for any hint of mockery, but he found none. “I do.”

“You were going to kill and skin the rabbit anyway. You didn't take any actions you weren’t already prepared to do, you just did them in the wrong order for your host’s comfort.” 

“I was uncomfortable too,” Mairon protested. “I didn't like how it made me feel. How much I enjoyed it. It scared me.”

Melkor caressed his cheek and smiled softly. “My fearsome chief torturer, grown so tenderhearted.” He shook his head when Mairon stiffened. “It's all right, precious. I don't hold that against you. All things have to change; that's my victory. I love you just the same.” Mairon lay against his chest as Melkor stroked his back, each touch a little firmer until the tension in his shoulders began to unknot.

“In all the time I have known you,” Melkor murmured, “you have always worked with the greatest control and intent. You always knew your goal in causing pain, and if the point was having fun or because it didn't matter and you could, you knew that too. I think, however conflicted you feel, this was too much a part of you for too long to expect it to disappear. I think you will always enjoy it, given the right opportunity. But I also think you have little to fear. You did what you might have done long ago out of habit, and you won't make the same mistake twice. You’re too good at adapting to local etiquette for that. Look at how long you were welcomed in Ost-in-Edhil. You couldn't have done it if you let bad manners get the better of you.”

“That's…oddly helpful.”

“Oddly?” Melkor pinched his thigh and twisted. Mairon yelped but didn't struggle or pull away. 

“But it's not just that. I'm afraid of what I could do,” he said. “As you put it, given the right opportunity.”

“I find it highly unlikely that you’re going to find yourself with an elf chained to a wall and a torture implement in your hand without some careful orchestration.”

Mairon shuddered and hid his face so Melkor wouldn't see his distress. Taking his chin, Melkor harshly forced his head up. “No. Think about it. Who are you afraid of hurting? Not Celebrimbor; not after those nightmares. Let's make this easy; pick someone you hate. I want you to picture them naked and in chains and freshly beaten. I want you to look down and see the knife in your hand and imagine carving—”

“Stop! Please stop! Stop…” He was sobbing now and trembling, torn between clutching at Melkor and fighting off his hands.

Melkor released him and gathered him into a hug when he sank upon his lap, struggling to stop crying long enough to breathe. “There, you see?” he said gently. “You couldn't do it if you tried. You can't even think about it without breaking down. You only managed it on the hunt because it was a rabbit, and it didn't matter to you.” Melkor rubbed his back.

“Oh.” Mairon lay still and let Melkor soothe him as he gradually stopped trembling. “Oh.”

“I really wish I understood what happened to change you so. But you prefer this? Truly?”

“Yes,” Mairon declared fervently. “Yes, I do.”

Melkor kissed him and continued his long, soft strokes after wiping Mairon’s face with a corner of his tearstained robe.

“I still want to talk to Irmo.”

“Just a few more days.”

*

Mairon came in from the library with a stack of books Melkor had requested, titles on forestry and soils and weather patterns. He'd asked what Melkor wanted with reading so far from his usual interests, but Melkor had just smiled and said it was nice to have something different to entertain himself. 

“Can’t I wait and play with Rándil until he's back?” Was that Celebrian's voice?

“Fine, but take him outside—Mairon! You have a guest.” Melkor took the books, but before he could disappear, Mairon caught his sleeve. 

“Please don't go. Stay out here?” He didn't think Melkor's presence would actually make her safer; he didn't think he was any real danger to her, but he felt deeply uneasy, and having Melkor there gave him a steadiness he desperately needed.

Melkor raised an eyebrow but didn't object. “Do you mind if I stay?” he asked Celebrian. She hesitated but shook her head. Melkor ensconced himself at his desk and opened the first book.

“I wasn’t expecting you; is everything all right?” Mairon asked.

“Oh! I'm fine. I just wanted your help, and since you can't hang out at my house, I thought I'd bring my project here. Is it a bad time?”

“I…no…there's nothing else I have to do today. What’s your project?” He picked a chair and sat, gesturing for her to take the one beside it.

She opened her bag and pulled out a soft green gown. “So…I wanted to do this pattern in goldwork.” She showed Mairon the bands of graceful mallorn leaves she'd drawn around the sleeve hems and neckline. “But this is my sample leaf.” She dug through her bag and came up with a piece of the same fine linen in an embroidery hoop. “I was starting to feel comfortable with silk thread, but this…well, you see what I mean. It's awful. I can't get the threads to lay right, there’s all these gaps, I'm having trouble hiding the ends…” 

Mairon took her work and turned it over, inspecting both sides. Her assessment wasn’t far off. “And so you came to me?”

“Lady Anairë showed me how when we visited Fingon’s family on the island, but I don't remember enough. Maedhros said I should talk to Caranthir, but he lives up in the mountains, and we hardly see him either. And anyway, you did offer.”

“I did, and I'm happy to help you.” He popped the spoiled leaf out of the frame. “Do you have more fabric to practice on? I think I can find something close…”

“I have some.” She cut a square and handed it to him.

“You haven’t made friends at court, then?” he asked as he prepared the fabric. “I'm sure there’s a lot of skill to be found there.”

She scoffed. “They're all snooty jerks. The only person I like there is Grandmama. She helped me set up my loom, but she doesn't do this kind of fine work. She did offer to take me sailing and teach me to spear fish, though. The ferry's one thing. I'm not sure I'm up to getting on a proper boat again.”

Mairon grimaced, remembering weeks spent bound in the cramped, stinking hold of a Númenórean ship. “I don't blame you. I'm not fond of the sea either.”

Quiet laughter came from Melkor's corner.

“What's so funny about that?” Mairon asked.

“Nothing, really. Sea crossings are miserable. I hate them too.” He looked to Celebrian. “Child, if you ever actually spear a fish at sea, I want to see it.”

“What, you don't think I can do it? I'll have you know I'm a fair hunter on land.” She scowled. “Fine. I'm going to do it now, just to show you.”

Melkor shook his head, still laughing, and went back to his book. 

Mairon threaded a needle with a thin silk couching thread and began tacking down the first line of gold. “Here’s what you need to do…” They worked together, bent over the hoop, as Mairon showed her how to place and hold the threads while she stitched.

“Ugh,” she groaned at last. “I’m gonna scream if I try to concentrate any longer.” She leaped to her feet and shook out her hands, then leaned in to give Mairon a hug. “Thanks so much, I’m feeling a lot better about it. Umm…could I bring my gown over to work on sometimes, so you can help me when I get stuck?”

Mairon glanced at Melkor. 

“Why are you asking me? I don’t mind.”

“You’d be welcome,” Mairon told her.

*

“May I speak to you alone, my lord?”

“Of course.” Irmo led Mairon through the maze of gardens to a private nook surrounded by huge blooming gardenias whose fragrance filled the air. The thick white petals looked so soft. Mairon reached out to touch one.

“You may pick some if you like,” Irmo told him. “Have a seat and tell me what's on your mind.”

Mairon hesitantly took a flower and twirled it in his fingers as he sat. He felt calmer already, as if something in Lórien’s air was enough to slow him down and wash away some of the anxiousness that knotted his stomach. Keeping his eyes down, he related the hunt, how he'd started skinning his rabbit alive, the rush of pleasure that had drawn him in deeper, his conversation with Melkor.

Irmo puffed on their pipe and listened thoughtfully. “It seems this has unsettled you.”

“Obviously.”

“I think your lord has the right of it and that you'll be more mindful in the future. What else are you hoping for?”

“I…can't you do something about it? I don't want to feel that way. I don't want to be tempted by anyone’s pain. What if I want it badly enough to go looking for it? What if…I don't know, I just don't want to be capable of it.”

“Do you feel a hunger or a compulsion when you think of causing pain? Something stronger than a casual wish?”

Mairon experimented quietly. The image of a person in torment at his hands was more than he could bear; he knew that and didn't push himself. But the rabbit? Other prey? He pictured the way the rabbit's skin had parted like butter, its squirming, desperate and futile. The memory of pleasure tasted sweet, but it mingled with his horror, and he found little will to experience it again. “I don't think I do.”

“That's good. I can help take the edge off those feelings if you have them, or ward against them developing.”

“Can’t you cut that desire out of me completely? That’s what I want.”

Irmo gazed at him steadily. “That is dangerous territory, and we aren't going there.”

“But you can do it.”

“It would be damaging, and there's no predicting what consequences it could have on your mind.”

“I don't care. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to feel like I'm putting my friends at risk by letting them near me. I don't want to be a monster anymore!” Mairon's voice rose as he spoke until he was nearly shouting. 

“I can help you stay in control of yourself. I can ease any cravings. I can teach you to redirect your thoughts when you find your mind fixed on something that makes you uncomfortable. But I won't cut away bits of who you are. You've done more than enough of that yourself.”

Mairon's head snapped up at that. He was sure he wore a scowl that would have sent orcs scurrying for their lives, but Irmo seemed unfazed. “What do you mean?”

“I imagine it's the aftereffects of your Ring, unless you've been working with other magics I'm not familiar with.”

“You can see it? Can you…tell me how bad it is?”

“May I touch you?”

Mairon nodded.

“Close your eyes and try to relax.” Irmo set aside their pipe and cradled Mairon's face in their hands. Their touch was cool and soothing, both on his cheeks and on his mind. The scent of the gardenias grew stronger, and he found himself floating, adrift as in a calm pool. “The bulk of your power is gone,” they said at last. “But I think you knew that already.”

“Yes. Will it come back?”

“Hard to say. Parts of it already are, but some of it is likely lost forever. What do you remember of your life after making the ring?”

“I remember destroying Eregion, I remember Númenor...it goes dark for a while, but that's because I died…building up Mordor, teaching and strengthening my Nine, all the alliances and journeying in the South and the East…fighting and falling against Gil-Galad…What's the purpose of this, my lord?”

“Can you tell me when your memories become less clear? I want to help you find what's missing.”

Mairon thought about it. “When I lived in my tower in the forest…there are…bits that don't connect. I know I was thrown out…but I don't remember it. I remember fleeing to Mordor again…and then…no, that wasn’t… Baggins. I remember that name. It was important…he was the one who defeated me? Battles...but then…it's all fractured; the closer I get to the end, the less I recall.” He realized he'd tried to block out that time. He hadn't known there'd been so little need.

“That seems to be the worst of it. I'm afraid I can't undo it; there’s no getting back the memories. Hmm...you lost a little height, too."

"That can't...I could have made a taller fána!"

Irmo just raised an eyebrow. "I think on the whole, however, you've been incredibly lucky. The core of your ëala is intact, and from the traces of the Ring's bond to you, there was no reason to expect that. You were prepared to destroy yourself for this.”

“For him,” Mairon whispered. He felt Irmo’s presence brush over him in an invisible embrace.

“I'm so sorry we ever parted you. It was needlessly cruel, and it achieved nothing in the end.”

Mairon didn't answer. At some point he had crushed the flower he held. He let it fall to the ground.

“Can we agree, at least, that it would be unfair to him to take any further risks that are likely to harm you?”

Reluctantly Mairon nodded. “You'll help me, though? With the other things you said?”

“I will.” They pursed their lips. “I think it will be a deeper sleep for you, this time.”

“All right. Whatever seems good to you.”

Irmo rose. “You can come with me now, or rejoin us around sundown as you please.”

Mairon caught their sleeve. “Please don't tell Melkor what I asked. He'd be angry.”

“I'll never repeat anything you tell me in confidence. That's always the case.”

“Thank you.” Mairon lingered, feeling as though the ground had been taken from under him. Since his return, he'd deliberately avoided thinking about the Ring and what its loss might have done. He wasn’t sure what to do with his knowledge now. Or with Irmo's insistent denial. Secretly he'd suspected that would be the answer, but now that he had it… Weary. That's what he felt. Weary at the prospect of a long, slow struggle, of taking a step back for every two forward. He wondered how long it had taken Celebrimbor to stitch himself back together, and if it were easier somehow in Mandos’ halls. If it would have been better to let himself be pulled there at one of his deaths. If Mandos would have been any kinder to him than to his master. Not that he would have deserved it. 

Mairon lay under the edge of a bush and watched the bees at work. The heat of the summer afternoon and the steady droning of the bees slowly leached away his turmoil. Golden light and heady fragrance surrounded and infused him. The sun didn't hurt him here, and he began to think he understood what beauty the elves saw in its light. Gardenias seemed to drip with melted perfume as the sun shone through and warmed them, and he wondered how they would reflect the moon that night. He started to pluck the freshest and fullest ones, and he wove them into two crowns, one for himself and one for Melkor.

Only when he had made his way back and held out the crown to Melkor was he struck with fear that his gift might be taken amiss. _“And what good is a crown without a kingdom?”_ he could almost hear. But Melkor said nothing, only smiled and inclined his head to accept the wreath of flowers Mairon laid upon his brow. The creamy blossoms seemed to glow against his raven-dark hair. Mairon leaned against him and let his and Irmo's conversation pass over him. The heat and stillness made him sleepy, and Melkor's presence was comforting. Melkor woke him as it was getting dark just long enough to accept the draught Irmo offered him. He drank deeply and knew no more.

Waking was like pulling himself up through honey; tiring, but everything was tinged still with golden light, and though it took effort, he felt something settle into place as he opened his eyes. Something peaceful, he thought.

“How are you?” Melkor sounded concerned. “You slept a long time.”

By the sun it was already midmorning. Mairon stretched and groaned. “I feel like I've just run twenty miles.” 

“You’re going to have to ride more miles than that. Are you up to it?”

Mairon sighed. “Only if you'll hold me first.”

Melkor was happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celebrian's Grandmama is Lady Earwen, Finarfin's wife and Queen of the Noldor who Stayed.


	32. Hands

“I'm getting _letters_ now, Mairon. This isn't acceptable.”

“Letters? From whom?”

Melkor picked up a pile from his desk and flipped through them. “Five from various researchers who want their own interviews. Eight asking when my book will be out. And twelve I can only describe as death threats. Some of them are quite inventive.” He glanced up at Mairon. “Are you getting accosted by people in the street when you go out?”

“Not since that first time when I ran into Curufin. Most people don't seem to recognize me. But I don’t often go out alone. It would probably be worse on Tol Eressëa. Do they bother you, these threats? I can take care of sorting your letters if you'd rather not see.”

Melkor tossed them down and crossed his arms. “What bothers me is the incessant asking after the book. It will be finished when it is finished, and they aren't going to get it any faster by yapping at my heels. There’s one who writes with the same question every week.”

“I can take care of those, too.” Mairon took his hand and kissed his knuckles with a smile. “Just tell me if you want polite replies or rude ones.” He pressed his lips to his lord's fingers, kissing down them until his tongue could catch the tip of one and pull it into his mouth, teasing with the barest scrape of his teeth. Melkor let out a soft moan. Mairon sucked gently, doing obscene things with his tongue but careful not to go too far and touch Melkor's scarred burns.

“Mairon. Mairon, we can't…” Melkor tugged half-heartedly as if it pained him to refuse the silent offer. “Isn't your little friend—” 

“Oh!” Mairon pulled back as the door opened. They'd decided to make her visits a weekly event, and he'd forgotten it was today.

Celebrian froze in the doorway. “Am I interrupting?”

“No. But do knock first,” Mairon said.

“Where’s my fish?” Melkor demanded.

“Lord Ulmo’s fattening him up for me,” she retorted without missing a beat. She huffed as she took her seat and pulled out her embroidery. “I have to put up with enough of that at home, you know. People pretending they weren't just wildly making out.”

Mairon raised an eyebrow, surprised but relieved she could keep her boldness around Melkor. “Oh, like you'll be the least bit superior when your Elrond gets here.”

Her blush went all the way to her ear tips, and she quickly drew his attention to her work. “I went ahead and started on the sleeve. What do you think?”

Mairon looked over her stitches and opened his mouth, then closed it again. He thought for a moment. “Do you want my real opinion, or do you want to feel good about it?”

Celebrian narrowed her eyes. “If you ask like that, I’m honor-bound to choose the first.”

“I don’t want to discourage you. I’m…I don’t know how to do this gently.”

“I really do want to know. I can take it.”

He sighed. “The first leaf looks terrible. Your stitches are uneven and the threads keep changing direction. They don’t reflect light the same when you switch, see? You should have practiced more before you started. You’re progressing quickly; I can see a huge difference between this one and this last leaf you did; it’s actually okay. That’s its own problem, though, it all needs to be consistent unless you want this dress to show you were learning on it.”

She bit her lip and nodded slowly. “All right. What should I do about it?”

“I’d have you rip it all out and start again.” He could see that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“Even this last one?”

“Your next one will be better. The whole dress will look better if you start there.”

She closed her eyes and took several slow breaths. “I did ask.” She pressed her hands to her face, and when she pulled them away, Mairon was glad to see determination and not tears. “Would you please rip it out for me?”

“Give it here, sweetheart.”

Melkor had watched the exchange curiously. “A Noldo who actually takes advice? Remind me whose child you are?” he said as Mairon got to work. “No wait, you told me…Finrod’s niece…ha. That makes you Goody Two-Shoes’ granddaughter.”

Celebrian glared at him coolly. “Rude.”

“The sass must come from your grandmother, then.” 

Mairon wondered if she could discern the teasing note in Melkor’s voice. He was trying to rile her, and he was having fun. Perhaps he should put a stop to it.

“Still rude. I’ll tell Mairon.”

Melkor sputtered. “He’s sitting right there!”

“I’ll cry. Mairon won’t like it.”

“He’s sitting right there. He can hear you plotting!”

Mairon smirked and tried not to laugh. “Make her cry, and you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

“Did he teach you that?” Melkor asked. “Brats, the two of you.”

They both burst into giggles, and after a moment, Melkor laughed too. Mairon's heart filled with joy at the sound.

*

Celebrimbor had invited Mairon to spend the afternoon with him before their class. Mairon met him on the outskirts of town to walk out to his home together. Celebrimbor had been shopping, and Mairon offered to carry one of his overflowing baskets. Looking surprised, he smiled and handed it over. _Did I never give him such little favors before?_ Mairon wondered. _I have to fix that._

“What's on your mind?” Celebrimbor asked.

Mairon glanced his way and smirked. “Just thinking—” _about all the things I'd like to do to you—no._ “How much I want to kiss you,” he quickly amended.

“Oh, I think that could be arranged…” Celebrimbor purred.

They couldn’t reach the house soon enough for either of them, but when they turned down the lane and stepped into the shade of holly trees, Celebrimbor tensed. “What the fuck?” he said under his breath. Mairon followed his eyes. Curufin was lounging on the bench by the front door with his arms crossed, looking not at all pleased. Celebrimbor pushed Mairon behind him as Curufin stood and strode forward to meet them.

“What is this I hear about you and Sauron, son? And why, by all the Valar, is he here with you? Have you lost your senses? Did you not get enough of his _tenderness_ the first time?”

Mairon stepped forward to answer on his own behalf, but Celebrimbor put his arm out again, and he swallowed his words and moved back. Let Tyelpë show his father he was in control. He wasn’t about to go against his wishes.

“Atya, I know you’re concerned and that you’re only here because you care about me. But you’re interrupting my plans. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

“No. You’re making foolish choices, and you’re going to get yourself hurt. You need to listen and send him away, and if you don't, I'm going to help you.”

“I don’t think you understood me. You need to leave. I know what I’m doing, and I know who he is. He’s not going to hurt me, and I won’t have this discussion where he has to hear it.”

Curufin’s smile was full of poison. “If you send him away, he won’t have to hear.”

“Do you or do you not still think me a child?” Celebrimbor was starting to lose his composure. 

“I think—” Mairon could see him changing tactics on the fly. “I think it’s difficult for you, seeing him again after everything you’ve been through, and I know how tempting it is to remember how very good all the good times were and to think it could be like that again. But you have to understand people like him don’t change.”

“Is that what you told Ammë when you begged her to take you back?”

Curufin sucked in a sharp breath, and Mairon wondered how low that blow had been. “Don’t expect me to come to your rescue when he has you screaming,” he growled as he stalked past.

“I shan’t want any rescuing, as I’ll be screaming in pleasure.”

Curufin stopped in his tracks, balling his fists, but when he turned back, he spoke to Mairon. “I see you've forgotten that little lesson I taught you. Perhaps it's time for a repeat.”

Mairon shuddered but didn’t answer. Curufin didn’t wait. 

Celebrimbor had a hand to his face. “I know that looked ugly. He won’t listen to me; he’s never had the slightest respect for boundaries, and he’s always certain he’s right. I’ll have to sort this out and apologize later.”

“Can we go in?” Mairon didn’t like how small he sounded.

“Yes. Let’s.”

“I…I think this might have been my fault.”

“Don’t—”

“No—while I was out with Celegorm, I let slip that I was seeing you. We were…talking about our lovers, and I…I didn’t think. I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “I’m not angry. He would have put things together eventually. I’ve been talking to him myself, without any names. I don’t know what to do with a third person involved, and he does.” Taking the basket from Mairon, Celebrimbor started putting food away in the pantry. “What did he mean?” he asked suddenly. “What he said to you—about his ‘lesson’.”

“Umm…I’d rather not talk about that.”

“If he wants to hurt you, I would hope what I want takes precedence.”

Mairon winced.

“Mmm. Thought so. He’s predictable like that.” Celebrimbor stirred the coals in the hearth and set the kettle on to boil. “Do you want some very strong coffee? That’s what I’m going to make.”

“That sounds perfect.” Pulling up a chair, Mairon draped himself over the back and rested his chin on his arms. “I wish I were someone you could be proud of. Someone you could show off and didn't have to hide.”

“I am proud of you. I’m proud to be with you. I just…hoped I’d have more time to get them used to the idea. My family will come around. Some of them like you already, I hear.”

Mairon took a shaky breath, and Celebrimbor chose that moment to bend down and kiss him. “Hey. My dad doesn’t get to ruin our day.” He poured coffee into two mugs and offered one to Mairon. “Milk? Honey?”

Mairon shook his head. The coffee was bitter and rich, just as he liked it. He did his best to help turn their minds to happier thoughts, and by the time their cups were empty, they were feeling better. 

“You know, I haven’t shown you the bedroom yet,” Celebrimbor said as he set aside his mug and reached for Mairon’s hand. “I believe you owe me a kiss.”

Mairon followed and wondered if he dared. “Or…I could make you scream in pleasure.”

Looking back, Celebrimbor studied him, then smiled wickedly. “That’s the spirit.” He pulled him onto the bed. “I’ve been thinking about this, and we’ve been holding hands with no problem. I think…as long as I know where your hands are…”

Mairon took both of Tyelpë’s hands in his and leaned forward to kiss him softly. “There. Now you’ll know.” Celebrimbor shifted closer, kissing back, until they were almost in each other's laps. _This is bliss,_ Mairon thought. _This is everything._ Then Tyelpë's tongue slipped between his lips, and he stopped thinking.

“There's entirely too much clothes between us,” Tyelpë murmured. He gently pushed Mairon away and made short work of his shirt. 

Mairon followed suit but froze when he glanced up and saw Tyelpë's bare chest. “You have scars.” He knew those lines; he had cut them himself.

“A few.”

“But…you…Maedhros doesn't have scars!”

“Yes he does. If you haven't seen them, it's because he didn't want you to. There’s a big one circling his right wrist and one on his left palm. Probably more in places that don't show. He almost came back without a hand. Celegorm was so angry; he didn't keep any of his scars, and he did want them.”

Mairon had turned away. “I thought…I didn't know.”

Celebrimbor leaned over and put his arms around him from behind. “You have scars you've kept through several lives.” He traced Melkor's mark on Mairon's chest. “I think it must be similar. Whatever makes a deep enough impression on you stays.” Pushing back Mairon's curls, he laid a kiss just beneath his ear. “We can go do something else if you want.”

“No, if you still…I still want this.”

“Well, I still want you, so get over here.”

Taking Tyelpë's hands again, Mairon shoved down his guilt and threw himself into showering adoration on his lover's body. Laughing at the onslaught of kisses, Tyelpë fell back and let Mairon make his way down his chest, pausing to tease at a nipple. 

“Would you like it if I bit a little? Not hard.”

“I'm not sure. You can try.”

He nibbled carefully, enough to feel but not to hurt, alternating between his teeth and his tongue until Tyelpë was moaning and squirming, trying to trap Mairon between his thighs where he could get some friction against his hardening cock. Mairon grinned. “Something you want there?” Pulling Tyelpë's hands with him, he stroked down his chest with the back of his fingers.

Tyelpë gasped. “Wait, back off, back off!”

Mairon obeyed immediately, moving back so he didn't touch Tyelpë at all. He was trembling. 

“I'm sorry; it's your hands, I can't—I'm sorry.”

“Tyelpë, I never want to hear you apologize for that. Never. It’s all right.” Warily Mairon held his hands out, so that Celebrimbor could see them and hold them for comfort if he wished. “It was pretty good for a while there, right?”

Celebrimbor nodded shakily.

“We’ll figure this out. The good parts will last longer. I'll learn what you need, and I'll make sure you have it. And it'll be fine, whatever that looks like; I'm just happy I get to be near you. That's enough for me.”

Taking his hands, Tyelpë smiled wryly. “I really want more than this, though.”

“We’ll get there,” Mairon promised.

“I want you to hold me, but I can't have your arms around me.”

“You'll have to hold me instead.” Mairon lay on his side and pulled Tyelpë’s arm over him. Tyelpë inched closer until he was pressed to Mairon's back with a leg flung over him and his face buried in Mairon's neck. His breathing slowly grew steadier, and Mairon wanted to shout for joy when he realized that despite everything, he'd fallen asleep beside him. Instead he held still and softly kissed his fingertips.

*

Mairon was worried. Celebrian was supposed to come that afternoon, and he was still stuck in the library with an elf who was becoming increasingly vexatious. Leaving her alone with Melkor didn't seem wise.

“These aren’t the right ones,” the elf insisted. “I told you the recipe I need is for a copper red; these all have iron oxide.”

“I already pulled all the reds with copper. Do you want to look through them again?”

“No; it wasn’t there. I’ll know it when I see it.”

Sighing, Mairon turned back to the endless scrolls of recipes for pottery glazes. “Surely one red is much like another.”

The elf’s frustration turned suddenly vicious. “Do you mock me? Or do you value craftsmanship so little? Why do I ask, of course you don’t care; you burned down the greatest city of craftsmen that ever was.”

Mairon was glad he faced away. He leaned against the shelves and bit his lip so hard it bled. Keeping his silence was its own victory. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he went on unrolling scrolls. Something caught his eye; this one contained chromium as well as copper, and he must have stopped reading at the first coloring agent. “Might it be this one, sir?” 

He held it out, and the elf scanned it, then read it again more slowly. “That…that’s it. I was beginning to think it lost forever.”

“Were you there?” Mairon asked softly. He hadn’t turned around.

“Was I…?”

“Ost-in-Edhil. Were you there?”

The elf was quiet for a moment. “I was in the first round of evacuations, before the siege. And then…” His breath hitched, and Mairon feared he would cry. “I came back to fight. I…I saw his body raised over the field.”

Neither wanted to say Celebrimbor’s name.

“I’m sorry I took your home,” Mairon said. “And…all the rest. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for finding this.” It sounded abrupt and final. The elf copied the recipe into his notebook without looking up again. Mairon bowed his head and silently began putting away the piles of scrolls. At least the words came more easily now. That had to count for something.

When he got home, Celebrian was smirking at Melkor from across the table. “I win again!”

“Yes, because it's rigged.”

“Or you're just a sore loser.”

“What are you playing?” Mairon asked. He was very ready to shake off his afternoon in favor of their good humor.

Melkor groaned. “It's a devilish little thing that's mathematically impossible to win if you go second. Which I realized two games in, after being cozened into agreeing to let her go first.”

Celebrian grinned from ear to ear. 

“I propose a different game,” Melkor said. He pushed aside the paper covered in grids marked with runes where they'd played. “A contest of riddles.”

“Only if you're ready to lose that too.”

Mairon sighed. Melkor would surely try to talk her into wagering something. Possibly her soul. And even he could rarely best his lord at riddles. “No riddles today,” he said firmly. “Aren't you here to work on your embroidery?”

“Fine,” she grumbled, muttering imprecations under her breath. Mairon thought he heard “slave driver" among them, but he decided to ignore it. 

When it was clear he'd lost his chance to reclaim his dignity, Melkor pouted and grabbed his sketchbook while Celebrian and Mairon got their projects underway.

*

“Where’s my fish?” Melkor called to Celebrian a few weeks later. It had become his regular greeting, and she usually had a clever reply ready to toss back with a grin.

This time she groaned, “Fuck off,” and collapsed on the couch. She looked haggard and miserable, dark circles under her eyes and salt still crusted in her bleached-pale hair. Kicking off her shoes, she curled up on her side. "I was seasick the whole time. Three days at sea.”

With an odd look on his face, Melkor rose and started rummaging through Mairon’s things. Mairon raised an eyebrow at him but was more concerned for Celebrian.

“Why are you even here, sweetheart? Shouldn’t you be resting at home?”

“Maedhros said I’d used up my allotment of whining and not to bother him unless there was actually something he could do about it, so I thought I’d come whine here instead and cuddle Rándil and maybe you’d make me tea.”

Melkor dropped a small bag into her hand as he returned to his desk. 

“Wait, what’s this?”

“Candied gingerroot. Chew on it next time. It’ll help.”

“Ugh, what makes you think there’ll be a next time?”

“I hardly think you're the type to give up.”

She raised herself just enough to glare at him but dropped back to the couch with a whimper. “Oww, my head.”

Mairon went to brew her some tea, adding willow bark to the leaves. “I know Maedhros didn't want you going out feeling that bad.”

“Fingon gave me something for the headache and I thought it was going away. It's too bright outside.”

Melkor had circled back at the sound of her pain, and now he knelt beside her. “Would you allow me to help?” Mairon glanced over at them. He’d rarely heard that gentle tone directed at anyone but himself.

She eyed him dubiously. “Can you make it go away?”

He nodded.

Biting her lip, she hesitated.

“Mairon's right here. He wouldn't let you come to harm.”

“I don't think he could stop you,” she confessed quietly. “If you really wanted.”

“Then it's a good thing I don't.”

She closed her eyes. “Yeah. Go ahead. It's getting worse. Don't bump me; it hurts to move.”

Carefully Melkor put his fingertips to her temples and began to sing. Mairon shivered at the soft swelling of power that filled the room. When he finished, Celebrian was fast asleep, and her expression much more at ease. Melkor tucked a blanket over her.

“Thank you, my lord,” Mairon murmured as he moved the kettle off the small flame he had lit to heat it.

“Shh. How long can we let her sleep?”

“I'll wake her in time to be home for supper.”


	33. No

“Would you mind taking over for me next class?” Mairon asked Celebrimbor as they set up. “I know it's short notice, but Celegorm was looking for a good time to ride out to the forest again, and—” 

“I do mind, actually.”

“Oh. All right. I hadn’t said yes yet for just that reason.” He toyed with a piece of chalk, marking out days on the iron workbench top. “My weeks are starting to fill,” he murmured, not really intending it for Celebrimbor’s ears. “I wonder how badly Melkor will want my company…I could probably get out of the next Lórien trip…” When he looked up, Celebrimbor was watching him with a small, fond smile. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I'm just happy you're here.”

Mairon smiled back and mourned that their students had already begun to arrive.

Geleth came up to Mairon after class. “I wondered if we could work on something a little different this week?”

“They're your lessons; what do you have in mind?”

She wiped some of the soot off her hands and took a little box from her pocket. “I know you said functional before pretty, but I finished cutting these with Lord Melkor, and I want to set them in something—rings or a bracelet; I'm not sure.”

Mairon suppressed his flinch at the thought of making rings again. Two gems sparkled in her hand, a deeply purple amethyst and a smoky quartz. “Ready for a break from gears, hmm? Those are not bad. Think about some designs—you don't have to draw them out fully or figure out how to make them work, just have some sketches of things you like, and we'll go over them next lesson.”

Celebrimbor had wandered over while they were talking. “Can I have a look?” When Geleth nodded, he took the gems and held them up to the light. “You know when he says 'not bad,' what he means is 'actually quite good, especially for a beginner,' right?”

Geleth grinned. “I’d gathered that.”

“You said Melkor taught you this? I had no idea he had such skill.”

“He—” Mairon began but stopped, unsure what he actually wanted to share. “He always loved what he could find underground.”

Celebrimbor studied him carefully. “It was said he forged the Iron Crown himself, but never that it was a thing of beauty. Was that wrong?”

Geleth snorted. “No one could look at the thing long enough to say. Except Lúthien and Beren, I suppose. And whoever beat it into—” She quickly cut herself off. “My apologies, Mairon.”

“Beat it into a collar. You can say it. You don't have to spare me.”

“Well. I saw it, a few times, and I couldn't make out anything but the lights, and they hurt my eyes. That's all.”

Mairon knew what they wanted to hear. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak, wasn’t sure what might come pouring out. 

“What was it like?” Geleth finally asked. “You must have seen it often up close.”

“I hated it, all right?” He sighed. “I don't know if anyone would think it lovely or not. There was skill in it. But all I could ever see when I looked at it was the way his hands cracked and bled while he forged it. While I fell to my knees and begged him to let me do it. He was still covered in tatters of spider web, and he hadn't rested, and he was in great pain, and he stood in the forge and refused to let me near his precious jewels while blood ran down over his hammer. I never knew if he sought to protect me from them or them from me.” He paused and took a deep breath to steady himself. “But yes, he was a fine smith when he cared to be.”

Celebrimbor put his arms around Mairon, and he gratefully leaned back against him.

“I…” Geleth seemed lost. “I want to say he deserved it, but I can't wish that on him now. Or on you. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.” 

“I don't want it to be something I have to hide from,” Mairon said softly. “The truth of it was often unpleasant, and I know it was a far worse time for you. But I want to be able to talk about it.”

She nodded. “I know what you mean. I…I think I'm going home now. I'll see you for my lesson.”

“Good night.” As soon as she was gone, he turned and kissed Celebrimbor and bid him goodnight as well.

He couldn't help wondering, when Melkor smiled at him from across the room, if the iron band he wore now was a piece of the same one they'd forced around his neck, mocking him with his own crown as they cast him out into darkness. He didn't ask.

*

Mairon jumped up to open the door when he heard Celebrian’s knock. She'd begged her grandmother to let her on the boat again, and Mairon had worried about her the whole time.

“Where’s my fish?” Melkor called without glancing up. Mairon took one look at Celebrian and grinned at her, trying to cover his snicker. She marched triumphantly over to Melkor and tossed a head the size of a watermelon into his lap. He looked down at the fish head, then up at Celebrian. “I'm impressed.” With a sickeningly sweet smile, he caught Mairon’s attention. “Look at that. Someone in my life still brings me heads!”

Mairon briefly wondered if he could get away with a “fuck off” himself, but he settled for rolling his eyes.

“I brought you some of the smoked fish too,” Celebrian began, full of excitement. “This was so much better than last time. The ginger really worked, and my fish was so big, it took three people to haul it onboard! It was taller than me! We roasted some of it on the shore, and then we smoked the rest, because it fed the whole crew and there was half the fish left. I had so much fun.”

“Clever girl. There are cookies over there.” He nodded toward the table. “To celebrate.”

Her eyes widened. “You knew I'd get my fish this time?”

“If you hadn’t, they'd be consolation cookies, wouldn't they?”

“Oh.” She considered it a minute. “I actually think that's even nicer. Did you make them?”

“I had a little help.”

“So Mairon made them.”

“I'll take them away if you’re going to be like that.”

“No don't!” She snagged one before he could make good on the threat, but looked to Mairon before she tasted it. “Is it all right?”

“He made them, not me. I have no idea if they’re edible. I am sure it won't hurt you to find out, though.”

“I appreciate your confidence,” Melkor said drily.

When she bit into it, Mairon thought she was going to cry. “That bad, huh?”

Celebrian shook her head. “It tastes like home. I haven't had maple sugar since I left Rivendell. We used to go up the mountainsides to the maple groves and tap them late in the winter every year, and we'd sit around the fires stirring the syrup as it cooked down and singing and telling stories all night…I miss it. I miss it so much.”

She let Mairon give her a gentle hug as she finished it and reached for another. He tried not to dwell on the thought that she'd be there still if not for him.

“These are really good,” she said to Melkor. “Thank you for making them. Where’d you manage to find the maple sugar?”

His smile was sly. “There's no maple in them at all. It's a mushroom I bred a long time ago.”

“The candy caps?” Mairon asked. “I didn't know you’d found those here.”

“Yavanna had tweaked them a bit. I had to find the right trees to partner them with to get them to grow. But it was worth the effort.”

“That taste is really from a mushroom? You’re not joking?” Celebrian asked.

Melkor nodded. “Do you want to see how they grow?”

“Yes. And I want some, if you don't mind.”

He stood and held the door for her to follow him into the garden. “I used up what I had dried, but I'll save you some from the next batch.”

*

Geleth showed up with several pages of sketches, and it quickly became clear that she'd chosen rings over bracelets. 

“These look vaguely Dwarvish,” Mairon commented.

“I should hope so; they are vaguely Dwarvish.”

“Did you spend much time among them?” Mairon had tried once or twice to draw her into talking about herself, but she'd always turned the conversation right back to craft. This time she hesitated but then nodded.

“I served in Lord Caranthir’s household, long ago. We all got to know the Dwarves well; they were our closest neighbors.”

Mairon bit his lip and hazarded another question. “May I ask what you did for him?”

She gazed at him steadily. “I know what you really want to ask. How I came to Angband, yes?” Settling back with a huff, she took her charcoal and drew tiny mountains in the corner of her paper. “I was Lord Caranthir’s head baker, and I took my turns in his guard. Everyone did; he insisted that you learn to fight if you were able, and he made sure we kept up our skills. We felt strong and well-protected for a long time, but…it wasn't enough. Nothing was, against Angband.” Her charcoal snapped. “It was the Dagor Bragollach. My sister and I had volunteered to be in the rearguard during the retreat from Thargelion. I was ready to give my life for my lord, but I never got that chance.”

“You must've thought very highly of him.”

“I’d’ve done anything for him.” Geleth’s smile was sad and bitter. “Outsiders often thought him cold, unless they met the wrong side of his temper, and then they thought him angry. But he always took care of his own. He knew everyone's name, and he was never too proud to work beside us. I remember one winter a flock of sheep were caught out in a snowstorm, and a bunch of us went to find them. He stood beside me and helped dig them out of a snowbank with his bare hands. That's the kind of lord he was. Thargelion was a hard country, but I loved it because of him.”

“Why aren't you with him now?”

“Wouldn't have me. Wouldn't have any of us. Still blames himself—for the Nirnaeth, for the fall of his lands and what happened to us. For leading us there in the first place, I suppose, the stupid git. He lives all alone in the mountains and hardly sees anyone. Trust me, those of us who’re around have tried. Now then. Rings.”

He showed her how different settings would look around her stones and helped her choose a wide, flat silver wire to form the bands. After she'd settled on designs, he took some copper and had her practice engraving her pattern. He picked up a piece of a clock mechanism they'd been working on and started filing away the saw marks while she worked, pondering her words. He'd assumed the reason the Fëanorions didn't keep households befitting their status as princes was that their former followers had forsaken them. That they might have chosen simpler lives, to the point of refusing those who would gladly have served them…it was a strange thought. It seemed almost churlish, to turn away those who had once depended on their protection. But then Aman held few hardships to seek protection from. Perhaps a far-off king keeping order was enough here.

What had happened, he wondered, to his and Melkor’s followers? Before the end he'd told Thuringwethil and the few other Maiar who belonged to him to seek the West if they wished it, when they died. To beg Mandos for healing and a chance to start again. To say they’d been coerced and hadn’t served willingly. He too had expected to die for his lord, and it wasn't fair for them to drift as shapeless ghosts, dreaming empty dreams that he'd be able to return for them someday. He hoped they'd done it. It was much better to think of them happy and serving some other Vala.

“Am I doing this bit right?” Geleth asked. “I'm not sure I like how it looks.”

“Go over your lines again and make them deeper here; that'll help with the illusion that the shapes overlap.”

“Ah. Got it.”

There was something else he'd wanted to ask. “How did Melkor talk you into helping with his little baking project? Did he know you were an expert?”

“Feeling chatty today, are you? He just asked if I knew how. I wasn’t hard to convince; it was kind of fun to tell him what to do. Did they go over well?”

“They were very much appreciated.”

“Good.”

They both turned back to their metals, and Mairon didn't interrupt her concentration again.

*

Celebrimbor waited for Mairon to finish shelving a few books so they could go out to dinner. He trailed his finger down faded titles, occasionally pulling a book out and carefully flipping through it. “I forget how many really ancient works are here; I always end up going to the Gwaith-i-mírdain's library instead. Some of these are older than Grandfather.”

“How dare you,” Mairon said. He'd thought about sneaking up behind Tyelpë, but he realized in time what a horrible idea that was. “Cheating on me with other libraries.” He managed to hold on to his pout almost until Celebrimbor's hands were on him, pulling him into a kiss. 

“I hope you're ready to go, because I'm not inclined to release you.”

Mairon grinned. “I'm yours all evening.”

The place Celebrimbor had chosen was quiet and out of the way. “Do you think you might come on a little trip with me?” he asked as they waited for their food. “There's going to be a great convocation of smiths on Tol Eressëa this fall. Everyone of any note will be there. I think you'd enjoy it, getting to see all the newest ideas and people's best work.”

“I'm not sure Aulë would like me to.” He turned his glass, watching how the light played through the red wine. “Honestly the idea of it scares me. I don't think I'd be wanted.”

“There's time to think it over. Aulë will probably be there himself; I bet he wouldn’t mind.”

Mairon's lips quirked. “That's what's called an excuse, Tyelpë.” Dinner arrived; an intricately layered pie filled with game and roasted vegetables. “Why Tol Eressëa? Why not here, near Aulë's school and the palace and so many great smiths?” 

“There's a palace there too, you know, and the Jewelsmiths. But mostly because Fingolfin and Gil-galad called for it. More ships are arriving from Middle-Earth all the time, and that's only expected to increase. There’ll be a lot of building in the near future, and craftsmen of all sorts will be wanted on the island. The kings are looking to have people lined up and ready when the need comes.”

Even though he didn't plan to go, Mairon enjoyed Tyelpë’s speculation about who would be there and what they'd be showing off. They finished the excellent pie and ordered dessert.

“Can I try a bite?” Tyelpë asked. Mairon had a slice of ginger cheesecake piled with fruits he didn't recognize and a swirl of cream. Tyelpë had chosen a slice of dark chocolate cake for himself. 

“Sure.” Mairon pushed his plate forward. “Can I taste yours?” 

His fork was poised in mid-air when Tyelpë answered. “No.” He didn’t sound angry or even cross, and he didn't add more.

Mairon tilted his head, unsure if he was being teased, but Tyelpë didn't seem to be joking. He shrugged and went back to his own dessert. 

It stayed on his mind as he walked home after they parted. Tyelpë hadn't appeared upset, but had he made a mistake? Wasn’t it a reasonable thing to expect? Now that he thought about it, Tyelpë had had to tell him no a lot lately. Nothing huge, no stern reprimands. Just little things, like tonight. Things that weren’t very important, that he might not even have thought to ask about before doing, except that with Tyelpë, he always wanted to be sure. _Maybe I should be more careful. I must not be paying enough attention._

After a class when Celebrimbor wouldn't let him use his hammer and then rejected his suggestion to revisit the bar they'd gone to the first time he’d asked Mairon out, Mairon waited until they’d finished straightening up. 

“Tyelpë…can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“It's…this isn't a complaint at all, so please don't take it that way. I'm worried I'm messing up, or bothering you, or that you aren't happy…with me…or…I don't know, but I want to fix it.”

“What do you think needs to be fixed?”

“I seem to be asking for things I shouldn't all the time. You’re constantly having to say no to me. Please just tell me what I'm doing wrong.”

Celebrimbor closed his eyes and slowly smiled. “You haven't done anything wrong. Far from it. I…maybe you don't remember how things were before, but…I could never say no to you then. I adored you, and I was a bit in awe at first, and mostly I was happy to go along with whatever you wanted. But when I didn't, you'd argue me around or you’d sulk until I gave in just to see you smile again. Until…until the time it really mattered, and I did say no and stood my ground, and…yes.”

Mairon lowered his eyes. “I hadn't realized. I'm sorry I treated you that way.”

“I needed to know,” Celebrimbor continued. “I had to find out if I could make myself say it, and I had to find out how you'd react. I suppose I've been a bit of an ass, the last couple of weeks.”

“Not at all,” Mairon murmured, shaking his head. “That makes sense. That's…really smart.”

“I kind of hoped…you've been so careful with me and stopped every time I had to tell you not to touch me, and it seemed to take a weight off my chest even when I was panicking. I thought if I could prove to myself you wouldn't ignore what I wanted…maybe it would help me trust you with my body, too.”

“I ruined it by asking, didn't I? I don't suppose it'll work, now that I know. You'd have to consider that I’d say what you wanted to hear, and—” 

Celebrimbor cut him off with a kiss, and Mairon melted against him as he deepened it. “It’s all right. I think I have enough data.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Candy caps (Lactarius fragilis, L. rubidus, and some other closely related species) are a real-world edible mushroom.


	34. Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for self-harm.

Melkor pulled Mairon closer and hid his face against his neck, sighing. “Manwë's coming for tea tomorrow.”

It was a rainy morning; the clouds were thick and grey, and the steady downpour showed no signs of stopping. Mairon had nowhere to be for several hours, and had anticipated lying in bed with Melkor doing anything but talking about his brother. “Can't you tell him no? Why am I only hearing this now?”

“You looked exhausted when you came home last night; I couldn't bear to weigh you down with it. I got the unfortunate feeling from his message that if I refused, it would cease to be a request.”

Mairon groaned. Enduring Manwë's company was distasteful, but worse was the foul mood Melkor would inevitably find himself in afterward. “Do I at least get to sit with you at the table this time?”

Melkor pressed soft kisses to his throat. “My precious, have I not told you how deeply grateful I was when you knelt for me that day?”

“No, my lord, I don't believe you have.” Despite his uncertainty about Melkor’s intention, he couldn't pretend to be unaffected. He bared his throat further, whimpering with longing as Melkor’s teeth grazed his skin.

“I was afraid that I’d lost you, that you’d only come to tell me goodbye. And then you obeyed; it can’t have been easy, and I could breathe again for what felt like the first time in months.”

Mairon said nothing. He felt wretched; this talk of obedience was making his skin crawl. Melkor had studiously avoided the subject since his return, and he’d hoped that would continue. 

“My beautiful little flame, you look even better on your knees,” Melkor whispered in his ear. “But I won’t do that to you this time. You’ll sit with us, and I hope you will say things more pleasing to Manwë’s cold, dead heart than I’ve yet discovered.”

“I’ll do my best, my lord. And...I'll send Rándil elsewhere for the day. Keep him out of sight and out of mind.”

His hands roamed over Mairon’s body. “Good. That's settled, then. You’re not to think about anything but me for the rest of the morning.” That sounded promising; certainly more what he’d had in mind. “Not that you'll have to work at it,” Melkor smirked.

Mairon turned toward him and slid his hand up Melkor's thigh to lightly caress his cock, smiling as he felt it twitch. “And what would you have of me, Master?” He could have sworn Melkor’s arousal grew harder just from the title.

Closing his eyes, Melkor rutted into Mairon's hand. “Ohh…oh, _fuck_ …All I would have of you…is to be still.” With a little groan at the loss of contact, Melkor pinned Mairon’s wrists in one hand, reaching for his belt. Mairon shivered in delicious anticipation, but instead of striking him, Melkor bound him to the headboard. 

He pulled at his restraints, testing them. “I don't think this'll hold long if I struggle.”

“Then don't.” So it was that kind of game. “Are you comfortable?” 

Mairon nodded, and Melkor pushed his legs apart and licked the length of his cock. Mairon gasped in surprise and pleasure as Melkor’s lips enfolded him and he began to lap and suck. Desperate for more and hardly believing the treat he was being given, he thrust eagerly into his lord’s mouth. 

Melkor shoved him down and smacked him. “Move again and I won't let you come at all.”

With a breathless whine, Mairon assented. It took every ounce of his will to hold still, grasping at the belt in a useless attempt to distract himself while Melkor brought him to the edge again and again, only to pull away and abandon him there each time. Before long he was sobbing and begging in an incoherent stream of pleas and curses. Melkor was drawing him right to the brink of orgasm, and all Mairon could think was how badly he wanted it, and Melkor wasn’t stopping…He wondered if he should speak up, if he should try to hold back, but Melkor hadn’t actually ordered him not to come, only not to move. He tensed, struggling not to buck his hips, his body so tightly wound that surely he would hit his peak now no matter what. Melkor slid off him, and he cried. They both waited, watching to see if he would spill anyway. He didn’t.

Melkor laughed. “Poor little flame. It would take so little…” He trailed a fingertip down Mairon’s cock.

“Please, my lord, please!”

“Oh? Would you like to see if you can come just from this?”

“Please no, please touch me, fuck me, anything!” Mairon’s eyes were squeezed shut, and when he felt nothing for a moment, tears ran down his cheeks, but then Melkor’s cock was sliding against him and pressed against his hole, and when Melkor forced himself slowly inside, it tipped him over. He could hardly tell where the first orgasm ended and the next began as Melkor pounded into him relentlessly, overwhelming him as everything blended into a great wash of pleasure.

*

When Manwë arrived the next afternoon, his herald Eönwë was beside him. 

Mairon felt their approach in the hallway before they reached the door, Manwë's cold and lofty winds and Eönwë's rustle of white feathers and too-bright light. He remembered he'd once found Eönwë's presence soothing, but he couldn't imagine it now. “You didn't tell me Eönwë was coming too!” he hissed at Melkor.

“I didn't know!” 

And then they were entering, and there were bows and politely murmured greetings, and too-bright eyes to avoid, and no time to say more.

Eönwë glanced around, taking in their plain but comfortable furnishings and the heavy drapes that kept out the worst of the sunlight. “Would you care to show me the gardens?”

Mairon bit his lip, thinking quickly. He didn't like being separated from Melkor; he knew his lord wanted him near. But he also didn't fancy discussing whatever Eönwë had in mind in front of others. “I’d be glad to. This way.”

They walked in silence for a time, Eönwë stopping often to admire a flower or to peer curiously at Melkor's mushrooms. He paused in the shelter of a beech with huge, arching branches and faced Mairon. “I don't think there's much point in pretending pleasantries we don't feel.”

“Nor do I,” answered Mairon. “Say what you have to say.”

“Very well. I don't understand you, Mairon. Why did you lie to me, only to turn around and accept judgment now, when everything is worse for you? Or are you lying now, too? You were my friend once. My dear friend. I thought that meant something to you, but every time I reached out, you've only betrayed me again.”

Mairon looked up into the branches. _To the point, indeed._ “I never meant to spurn your friendship. I treasured it. But you rejected the one I love, and I had to go with him.”

“That doesn't begin to answer why you lied.”

“It wasn't a lie, exactly, I was…exploring possibilities.”

“You swore to me on your knees that you hated your deeds under Morgoth and that you abjured both them and him.”

“Oh. That part was a lie. That's fair.” Eönwë’s face hardened, and Mairon found he did miss the days when those eyes were full of warmth, when the curve of his cheek and his dark brown skin had been more familiar than Mairon's own reflection, when they'd lain on new grass in the light of the Lamps and shared their dreams for the world they were building. “I'm sorry for how it ended,” he added. “I didn't know what to do, and what I chose ended up so wrong. I probably should have listened to you. I should have gone with you and begged to share his fate. But that isn't what he commanded me, and…it took a long time to conclude that I couldn't stay on that path.”

“I suppose you couldn't, when it finally collapsed out from under you.”

“Eönwë…”

“No. You don't get to do this. You don't get to twist me into a soft-hearted fool and then come here and expect me to make the same mistake twice. I should have bound you that day. Maybe I should have killed you. No one would have found your execution unjust.”

Mairon bowed his head.

“I don’t know how you managed to trick everyone into believing you. You’d think people would have you figured out by now. Whatever would win you trust and get you ahead, that’s what you’ll say. It isn’t difficult.”

“Don’t look at my words, then.”

“A year of keeping your head down hardly counters millennia of slaughter.” Eönwë watched him closely, but when he didn’t reply, he sighed. “What exactly did you think you were going to accomplish, coming to me like that?”

“Honestly? You were about to catch me sneaking into the camp. I didn’t see any other way to escape.”

“So you didn’t mean any of it.”

“I didn’t say that. I…” He remembered the bitter helplessness he’d felt and wondered what words could begin to convey it. “I was reconsidering what I’d done. I wasn’t ready then to say it was wrong, but I would’ve…there was nothing I wouldn’t have agreed to if it would save him. But they'd already settled on my lord’s punishment, and I didn’t think giving up my freedom would change that. I couldn’t risk losing my power to act.”

“For all the good it did you.”

“For all the good it did me.” 

“You didn’t even say goodbye when you left Almaren.”

“I knew you’d try to stop me.”

“You could’ve left a note. Something at least to let me know you were unharmed. We all thought he’d stolen you, until the rumors surfaced you’d been seen doing his bidding. And even then…I defended you, Mairon. I told everyone you must be under coercion, that you’d never willingly follow him. How could you? That’s not the Mairon I knew. You loved order, you loved creating beauty, you wanted to help the Children. You weren’t…evil like him.”

“He wasn’t evil either.”

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“No—you don’t understand. No one did. He…I wasn’t abandoning beauty or goodness or order. He _was_ beauty. He was grandeur and sublimity, and…you all saw order only in the small things, and when he threw them apart to build something better, you thought he destroyed your work. You never saw what I did, that the pattern was never _right_ without him in it. The world needed his wildness, it needed his chaos if it was to have anything to grow from and anything to grow into. I loved order, yes, but I could see it was like an untempered blade without him, too hard and too brittle to endure. I needed him so I could be whole, and so did the Music.”

Eönwë narrowed his eyes at that, and Mairon was surprised he didn’t interrupt.

“We should never have made enemies of the Children. We were wrong to hurt them. We did evil deeds. But I will not call his nature evil.”

“I see.” Eönwë fell silent, and Mairon had a terrible sinking feeling that he’d said all the wrong things. He hoped no trouble would come of it.

When they rejoined Melkor and Manwë inside, they appeared to have finished an equally unpleasant conversation. They sat around the table, and Mairon tried to put on cheer and play host, but there was little saving the mood. At Manwë’s show of interest, Mairon told him about his blacksmithing students and the projects they were working on, but it was clear Manwë understood little. Eönwë wouldn’t look in his direction, and Melkor answered any question put to him with single words. Thankfully Manwë seemed to have achieved what he wanted; they didn’t stay long.

Mairon saw how Melkor faintly trembled as he stood and gave Manwë and Eönwë the briefest nod in farewell. Mairon bowed deeply and held the door for them. As soon as they were gone, he turned to Melkor, but he had already fled. Sighing, Mairon cleared the table and carried the trays back to the kitchens. He’d rather do it himself than be interrupted by Aulë’s Maiar later. Melkor would feel like they were gawking at him, no matter how quick and polite they were. 

When he returned, Melkor was sitting on the bed with his head in his hands, tension and despair radiating from him. Mairon knelt at his feet. A knife lay on the bedside table under some papers, as if it had been hurriedly covered. Mairon recognized it anyway; it turned his stomach. He’d caught Melkor cutting himself with it only once or twice, but many times he’d cleaned it of half-forgotten blood.

“What can I do for you, my lord? Shall we walk outside? Evening’s coming, and it will be dark early with the clouds.”

Melkor shook his head.

“Let me read to you, then.”

“Leave me alone for a while.”

Mairon glanced at the knife. “I can mix you a sleeping draught. You don’t have to know anything else until morning.” In Angband he’d saved that tactic for the worst nights, fearing Melkor would come to depend on it too much, but he thought it preferable to what Melkor clearly had planned.

“Precious, if you don’t leave, I’m going to do it in front you, and I know you won’t like to watch.”

“You can hurt me instead,” Mairon whispered. “Please.”

Bending down, Melkor kissed his forehead. “It’s not the same. Now go.”

Reluctantly Mairon left him to it. He went to the small workshop he'd claimed for himself and Geleth and spent the next two hours filing and polishing gears and bits of clockwork, counting down minutes and trying to keep visions of Melkor lying in a pool of blood out of his head. He knew Melkor wouldn't go that far. He knew he was a Vala, and able to heal again, and that objectively it was not the danger it would be for elf or mortal. But the thought of Melkor relieving his pain by carving it into his skin filled him with desolate, aching grief, and he wished again he’d accepted his offer. He'd far rather be under the knife himself.

At two hours Mairon put away his work. That should be time enough for whatever Melkor needed, and for him to gain enough distance to welcome Mairon's presence. Even if it wasn't, Mairon could bear no more. Melkor hadn’t moved from the bed. He was slumped against the wall, staring off into nothingness, his robes pulled loosely around him like a tangle of black shadows. Mairon couldn't tell if he'd noticed he was there. “My lord?”

He flinched hard, glanced at Mairon, then looked away. Climbing onto the bed beside him, Mairon gently pushed his robe back, but Melkor took his hand and pressed his lips to it. “I'm fine. There's nothing you need to tend.” His voice was hoarse.

“May I be the judge of that?”

Melkor huffed and released him. His arms, under his robe, showed a gradual transition from fierce slashes to more methodical patterns of swirling cuts, but all had been cleaned and had stopped bleeding. They’d likely be gone by tomorrow. “Do you want something for the pain?”

Melkor shook his head. “I want it to hurt.”

Mairon understood that well enough. He pulled Melkor into his arms, careful to leave room for him to retreat if being held was too much. When Melkor relaxed and laid his head on his chest, Mairon breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

“He didn't believe I’d taken Geleth as my student just because I liked it. He kept asking what I thought I would get out of it. He as much as threatened to forbid me visitors. He said he'd learned his lesson and he wasn’t going to let me near enough to—to _corrupt_ anyone. Like anything I touch would be poisoned _just because_.” Melkor kept his voice low, but Mairon heard the biting fear in it. “I should never have let myself get attached. To anyone. Now he has ways to hurt me.”

“I won't let that happen.”

Melkor laughed with a note of hysteria. “You can't stop anything he decides to do. I wouldn't have spent ages in the Void if you could.”

Shuddering, Mairon hugged his lord tighter. “What did he say about guests, exactly? He's not taking anything away right now, surely?” 

“He said, ‘Perhaps I should discuss with Aulë who's allowed to intrude on you; we must tread very carefully for everyone's safety.’” Melkor clenched his teeth in revulsion. “He said, ‘I'll be keeping a close eye on this student of yours; we can't have any mishaps or misunderstandings, and if I hear of trouble, we’ll have to bring it to an end.’ It doesn't take a genius to translate that to ‘Take a step I don't like and lose what little you've gained.’ I don't think he knows about Celebrian. Maybe I can keep it that way.”

“I suspect she won't mention you to anyone, so don't worry too much. She knows perfectly well what Maedhros would say if he knew she were hanging around you and not just me.” Mairon had briefly felt conflicted about that before deciding Celebrian could make her own choices.

“I don't want to lose them,” Melkor whispered. “They’re the only ones who don't flinch when I look at them. I don't want everyone to be afraid of me.”

Mairon stroked his hair. “I know. But we spent a long time making them afraid.”

“They were enemies then. How else was I supposed to hold my own?”

“It's not so easy for them to give up the fear once they've known it. Look at Tyelpë—he loves me and forgives me and wants me, but we still haven't managed to take all our clothes off together, because every time I get too close, he remembers how I hurt him. He can't help it.”

Melkor was silent a long time. “I hate my brother. None of this would have happened if he'd listened to me, even once. He never cared. He never tried. I hate him so much.” He started to shake and cry. “Do you know how he looked at me when he pushed me out? The face I see in nightmares? He wasn’t angry; he wasn't sad. Just the perfect untouchable king carrying out distasteful _justice_.” Melkor spat the word. “Please don't leave me; I know I'll dream it again. And then—and then the cold and the dark. Please.”

Mairon wrapped a blanket around him and clutched Melkor to his chest. “I'm right here. I won't leave you.” 

Melkor collapsed, sobbing. “I don't want to be that alone ever again.”

“I'm here.” Mairon held him through the night.


	35. Worry

Mairon wavered about speaking to Aulë. Since his hunt with Celegorm, he’d avoided him, but…his misgivings hadn’t been completely unfounded. He didn’t like to think how far he might have gone with the rabbit in his hands without Celegorm there to call him back to himself. Aulë’s words had still felt unbearably patronizing. Sighing, Mairon decided he’d have to overlook it. He needed Aulë’s good will, and he knew he wouldn’t be here at all if Aulë didn’t care about him. 

Aulë stood in his forge, sweat running down his chest and beading in his beard. A vast chandelier was taking shape beneath his hammer. He paused when Mairon entered and mopped his face with his discarded shirt. “Hey, Mairon! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Mairon gave him a tight smile. “I’ve been busy.”

“Come in, sit down!” He dug a stool out from under a pile of sketches and brushed off the coal dust. “How are you? How are your students?” Aulë sounded so genuinely glad to have him there that Mairon felt a twinge of guilt for harboring his resentment so long. 

“Actually…I have a problem. Can we talk about that first?”

“Of course. And I have something I need to talk to you about as well.”

Mairon’s eyes widened in dread. What had Aulë heard?

“No need to panic, little one. It’s nothing bad. You’ve done nothing wrong; don’t fear.”

How much of that had gone straight to his face? He had to control his reactions better. Aulë rested a massive hand on his shoulder. 

“Should we get that out of the way so you can relax?”

Mairon nodded weakly.

“One of my young apprentices is falling behind, and I wondered if he might join your class to get some extra help in a less stressful environment, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Mairon breathed a sigh of relief and considered. “How far along is he?”

“Not so far that he’ll make your students feel bad about their skill.”

“All right. That could work. I…do have some concerns.” He hated to raise any objections; he wanted Aulë pleased and willing to consider what he was about to ask. But he had to take care of his students too. “I understand my students have had some…bad experiences with other elves. If you think he might mock them or make them feel inferior in any way, he won't be welcome. I’ll have him out the door before he can finish his sentence. And he has to be willing to learn sign language so everyone can speak with him.”

“I think you'll find him amenable.”

“The other thing is—are you sure you want me working with someone who's struggling? I'm not a patient or an easy teacher. I expect a lot out of my students.” After his mistake with Luinnir, he'd put great effort into ensuring he phrased everything he said respectfully and gave people room to make their own choices about their projects, but he hadn’t relaxed his standards. 

“That’s not what I hear. I hear that lately you’ve become so encouraging that people are halfway through their second attempt before realizing you called their first one complete trash.”

“Huh.” He couldn't tell if Aulë were teasing him or not. “Well, I'll help as much as I can.”

“And I'm sure you'll do it splendidly. Now what did you need from me?”

“Umm…you know that Lord Manwë was just here.”

Aulë furrowed his brow. “Yes.”

“He—” Mairon paused and considered how best to approach this. “He mentioned that he didn’t like Lord Melkor seeing people. I think he…I’m sure he thinks it a danger, but he doesn’t understand. My lord, I assure you Lord Melkor won’t hurt anyone. He cares far more than you would think for his friends, and…please, they’re the best thing that’s happened for him. If you saw how he smiles…if you saw how incredibly gentle he can be…taking that away from him is going to destroy him; it won’t help. If you want him to be kind, you have to give him that chance. You have to let him come to care for people.”

Aulë regarded him calmly. “You sound like Nienna.”

“There’s no one I’d rather sound like.”

“Manwë did speak to me. He was…very concerned. I’ll tell you what I told him—so long as Melkor lives under my roof, I’m not going to cut him off from the outside world. Not without any cause. That just seems cruel.”

“So…so we’re safe? He isn’t going to insist, or…take Melkor away, or…can you really just tell him no like that?” His voice was shaking, and he didn’t even care. 

“Mairon, it’s all right. Everything’s all right. I’m sorry he frightened you so. If he’d talked to me first…” Aulë sighed. “I don't think it occurred to him that anyone would seek Melkor out with any motive but revenge, so this is a bit of an unplanned-for shock. And he's getting some…pressure from certain quarters. I’m sure it won't surprise you that not everyone is happy with the present arrangement. But the agreement was to put you both in my care. As long as you keep to our agreement, that isn't going to change.” He pushed Mairon's hair out of his eyes and smiled gently. “You might want to be careful whom you speak so boldly around, though.”

Mairon froze. “Did Eönwë—”

“I told him it's no crime to think well of the one you love.”

Fighting to hold back tears, Mairon got up and put his arms around Aulë. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I know you're only doing this for me, and I don't deserve it either, but…I just…thank you.” 

The Vala held him and patted his back. “It isn't just for you. I never thought it was right for his punishment to last forever.”

Mairon rubbed his eyes. “If I had come back with Eönwë…after the war…”

“There’s no point in what if's.”

“No. I suppose not.” Taking his seat again, Mairon studied his hands. “Seeing Eönwë again got me thinking. I wondered—is Curumo back from Middle-Earth yet? I understand why he'd want to avoid me, but…if he'd give me a few minutes…”

“Curumo died in Middle-Earth, Mairon. Not long after you.”

“Then…shouldn't he be here?”

Aulë drew a deep breath. “I sought him. I couldn't find him. Or he didn't want to be found.”

“But…I don't understand. He would have died a hero.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He…he fought me. Fiercely. That's…what you sent him to do.”

“You don't remember?”

With a sinking feeling, Mairon recalled Irmo's words as he scrambled frantically for any information. “I don't. I remember him opposing me in Mirkwood. Nothing of him after.”

“He betrayed us and joined forces with you.”

Mairon paled. “No. He couldn't. He would never.” Curumo had trailed him around Aulë’s forges like an annoying younger brother, always trying to keep up with whatever new skill Mairon had tackled. But when he'd tested the waters to see if he'd follow him to Utumno—Melkor had promised him power from the start, and he'd been keen to make Curumo bow—Mairon had rarely heard a solider denunciation of Melkor and everything to do with him. It had hurt, but the thought that he'd followed him in the end, when all possible justification was gone, hurt worse.

“You really don’t…?” Aulë shook his head. “I don’t have the full story, only pieces here and there. He raised armies of orcs and did battle against the kingdoms of Men; I know that much. At a place called Helm's Deep. I'm sure I'll know more when Olórin arrives.”

Lowering his eyes, Mairon turned away. “I do remember something of Helm’s Deep. So many people died there. I…I'm sorry I pulled him into that.”

“I'll keep looking for him. I haven’t given up hope.”

*

When he returned to their rooms, feeling both devastated and relieved, Mairon found Melkor curled up with his sketchbook in the corner of a chair, huddled as if he sought protection within its stout arms. Mairon kissed his cheek and let Melkor tug him down into the soft cushions. The page where Melkor had been drawing was full of giant spiders, each dying a different but equally painful-looking death. He quickly covered it.

“You know, I find it doesn't bother me when it's spiders,” Mairon said.

“I don't want to look at them anymore.”

“I talked to Aulë. There’s nothing to worry about; he stood up for you. He even apologized for letting Manwë threaten you in the first place.”

Melkor ripped the edge off a blank sheet and started tearing the paper into tiny pieces. “For now,” he whispered after a while.

“We have him and Nienna, and I think even Irmo looking out for us.”

“Three against eleven is very poor when it comes to a vote.”

Mairon couldn't argue against that. He sighed and laid his head on Melkor's chest. “I'm going to tell Celegorm I can't go hunting after all. I won't make you travel alone.”

“But I thought Celebrian was going with you. She was so excited that she'd finally talked him into it. You can't let her down like that.”

“It'll have to be another time.”

Melkor shook his head determinedly. “I've been to Lórien without you before. I'll be fine. I’d really prefer you keep her happy. Nothing’s going to make life easier for me, so I'd just as soon have her stories to look forward to when I get back. Besides, you deserve a break after dealing with this mess.”

“If you're certain.”

*

The forest in high summer was lush and green. Celebrian and Celegorm joked and laughed and sang as they rode, so loudly that Mairon thought they must have frightened off whatever animals were nearby. Neither seemed to mind. None of their cheer could touch Mairon. A cloud of fear hung over him, worrying him with a foreboding and uncomfortable sense that something was about to go wrong. He couldn't tell if it was simply paranoia after last week or something more. The afternoon passed pleasantly enough between training with Rándil and picking blackberries from a bounteous thicket they crossed, but Mairon found himself wishing repeatedly he'd gone with Melkor instead.

“Did you ever know Tilion?” Celegorm asked. They were sitting around a campfire, and the Moon was full and round, shining on them with silver light that cast eerie shadows through the trees.

“I knew who he was, but we were never close.”

“Valar, you guys are old.” 

“Pssh. He's way older than I am.” Celegorm gave Celebrian a wink. 

“Were you friends with him?” Mairon asked. “He was one of Oromë's, wasn’t he?”

Celegorm nodded. “He helped me learn to shoot. He was very kind to me and to all the young hunters.” He leaned back, looking up at the Moon. “I remember when it first rose, and far off in the distance, we heard the echo of Uncle Nolo's trumpets. I felt so relieved, like the real grown-ups had finally arrived, and they'd make everything better.” He snorted. “That feeling didn't last long.”

Mairon smiled wryly. “You may not have felt it, but you were plenty fearsome yourself, even then.”

“Oh? It's nice to know I had you shaking in your fortress.”

“I didn't say that. But your name certainly struck fear into my orc captains.” He glanced at Celebrian; he didn't think the mention would bother her, but he wasn't sure. She was drawing something in the loose dirt where they'd brushed back the leaves. It looked like a rambling house, and he wondered if it was Rivendell.

“What happens to them?” she asked abruptly.

“To whom? The orcs?”

She nodded.

“I suppose those who remain in the west will be hunted down. If Mordor manages to retain its independence, they'll be safe there. They were my people as much as the humans.”

“No, I meant after, when…when they die. Is there a Hall for them in Mandos?”

“No,” Mairon said softly. “There isn't.” He sighed. “Are you sure you want to know? It isn't something I'm proud of.”

“I’d…like to know. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to.”

He took a stick and poked at the fire. “We enchanted their fëar and bound them to be eternally reborn into the next generation. It was ignorant and short-sighted, and it was the last time I ever let Melkor talk me into doing something without proper testing first.”

Celebrian's eyes grew wide. “What went wrong?”

“We nearly lost them all.” Rándil shifted, laying on him with his head in Mairon's lap, and Mairon scratched his ears. “The first generation to be born after came from their mothers screaming, and they didn't stop. You see, we thought by doing this we’d keep the strength and fighting ability of our best warriors instead of having to start training over with each new child. We didn't account for the immense horror and pain of suffering death only to find yourself immediately in the helpless body of a newborn, unable to speak or to stand or to comprehend what had happened. We had to kill them. We thought we might have to wipe them all out and start over; we couldn't find a way to reverse what we’d done. So we did the only other thing we could think of. We made it so at the moment of their death, they forget.”

Celegorm threw another log on the fire, and Celebrian moved closer into the circle of light.

*

Mairon got home with a piece of venison from the deer they'd caught and an exhausted wolf, eager to see his lord and know that he was well, but Melkor didn't show up the next morning as expected. He still wasn’t there when class time came, and by the end of it Celebrimbor was giving Mairon concerned glances. Mairon realized he was pacing and fidgeting. 

“Nothing? Even now? You’d feel him, wouldn’t you?”

“I should,” Mairon answered. “If he were within Aulë’s walls.” His senses weren’t as strong as they had been, especially with the collar dampening them, but he would know if Melkor were that close. Surely.

“Well, there’s only one thing for it. You’ll have to come home with me.” Mairon looked up in surprise at Celebrimbor’s smile. “There’s no point in you lying in bed alone and worrying yourself sick about it. I can think of plenty of good reasons why he might be late. You said things have been rough? Maybe Irmo thought he needed another night’s work. Or maybe he decided himself some rest in Lórien would do him good. There are some really peaceful and private places in the gardens, where I think even he would feel safe and calm.” 

Slowly Mairon nodded. “That does sound…reasonable. All right. Let me check our rooms and leave a note in case he gets back before I do.” The rooms were dark and empty, and he followed Celebrimbor into the streets. “You sound like you’re familiar with Lórien.”

“I spent a good bit of time there after I returned.” Mairon said no more, unsure if it was a painful subject. After a moment’s thought, Celebrimbor went on. “I lived with Grandmother when I first got back; she was waiting for me with my mother, and when Ammë went back to Valmar, to her post at the university, I stayed here. I had a panic attack every time I tried to step into Grandfather’s forge or looked at his tools, and I wasn’t going to let that stand. Irmo helped me a lot.”

Mairon carefully reached for his hand and squeezed it. “You never told me about her. Your mother.” He spoke only when it was clear Celebrimbor was finished.

“I didn’t like to think of her. When we left, after…well, she refused to go along and told my father he couldn’t take me. He asked me what I wanted, and of course I chose him. I was just a child, what did I know of the world? Everything was dark and terrifying, and Granddad Finwë was gone, and Grandfather and all my uncles were readying for what sounded like the most exciting thing that would ever happen in my life. Of course I wanted to go. And then…I don’t know to this day how they kept me out of the Kinslaying, but I saw enough. Enough to think I would never be welcome here again. I thought she would never have me back after I’d rejected her for that.”

“But there she was?”

“There she was. And wouldn’t turn loose of me for hours. I was so glad to have them both.”

“Do you think…maybe someday I could meet her? Or is it better if I don’t?”

“I think, once she gets over being angry with you, she might like you. She teaches theoretic alchemy, and she has quite a blunt sense of humor. I have a feeling you’ll get along.”

“That explains so—” He stopped dead. Every window in Celebrimbor’s little cottage lay shattered on the ground. Paint was splashed across the front of the house, and even in the fading light, he could read the cruel words that accompanied the damage. _“Sauron’s Cocksucker Lives Here,”_ was scrawled in tengwar right above the door, not far from _“Kinslaying Trash.”_ Rage boiled through Mairon’s veins, but he pushed it away for later. Whoever had done this was already gone, and he needed to stay calm for Tyelpë.

“Right, we’re sleeping at my place after all.” Mairon took a chance and touched Celebrimbor’s cheek, just enough to turn his face toward him. “Do you want to go in and see if anything else is broken or missing, or do you want to deal with it all in the morning?”

“I—I don’t…why…” He shook his head, choking back sobs. “Who would do this?”

“Hey. Tyelpë. I’ll fix it all, okay? You won’t have to lift a finger; you don’t even have to come look at this mess again if you don’t want to. I’ll take care of it.”

Celebrimbor took several deep breaths. “If anything’s ruined inside, it’ll have to wait until morning anyway. Let’s just go.” They were halfway up the lane when he spoke again. “Are you sure it’s all right? What if Melkor gets back and finds me in his bed?”

“It’ll be fine. I don’t think he’d mind, under the circumstances, and if he is displeased, he’ll take it out on me, not you. And I’m fine with that.”

“All right.” 

They walked back to Tirion in tense silence. “I can sleep on the couch if that’s easier,” Mairon offered, but Celebrimbor shook his head. 

“I don’t want to be alone.” 

They curled up together, Mairon in Celebrimbor's arms, and as Mairon listened to him breathing softly as he slept, he contemplated what manner of grisly death would be appropriate for whoever had dared to do this to his love.


	36. Gain

In the morning when Mairon opened his eyes, his fingers were interlaced with Tyelpë’s. He felt a kiss pressed to his neck, and he smiled. 

“You’re awake?” Tyelpë asked softly.

“Mmhmm.” He snuggled back against him, luxuriating in the sweetness of having him there, warm and whole and alive and his. Through their clothes he could feel his cock, and he ground against him, not hard, just enough to be enticing.

Tyelpë pulled back. “I’m sorry. I know it’s our first morning waking up together. I’m still so upset about last night.”

Mairon turned around to meet Tyelpë’s mournful grey eyes. “And here I thought you’d spent all this time training yourself not to worry about telling me no.” He gently kissed Tyelpë’s forehead. “This one doesn’t count. Next time we spend a night together, it will be our first happy morning, and you can do what you want with it.”

“You’re lovely.” Tyelpë curled up with his head on Mairon’s chest. “I really don’t want to get up and deal with this, but I can’t ignore it and pretend it’s not there either.”

“My offer still stands. I’ll go clean it up and let you know when to come home. It'll be just like it was before.” He thought about it. “I might need an extra pair of hands to fix the windows.” 

Celebrimbor shook his head. “I’m going to call the magistrate out to see it first. I doubt there’s any sign of who it was, but if they’re willing to go this far…I don’t know what else they might try. Let me do that alone; no point dragging you into it. I don’t need anyone associating you with the scene of trouble. Come out a couple hours after I leave, and you can help me.”

His name was already associated, Mairon thought; it stood accusingly over the door. But he agreed, and had tea and scones brought from the kitchens, and tried to get Tyelpë to eat.

When Mairon joined him at his cottage, Celebrimbor was fuming. “You won’t believe what he said to me. ‘Is it true you’re involved with Sauron? You can hardly blame people for being upset!’ As if that somehow makes this excusable! Arafinwë’s going to hear about him.” He kicked at the shards of glass on the ground.

“If…if I’m bringing this down on you…we can reconsider. I don’t have to come out here if people feel unsafe—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Celebrimbor’s eyes shone with fury, and Mairon recalled that despite the mild manner he usually chose to show the world, he could draw on Fëanorian fire and steel as well. “Perhaps you’ve never had the misfortune to learn this, but bullies do not generally become kinder when you surrender to their demands. You are mine, and they can get over it.”

Mairon shivered. “As you wish.” He looked over the house. That red paint would have to go first. He hated the sight of those words. Rubbing a finger over it, he found it was only tinted whitewash. At least it would come off.

“I’m going to go see about window glass and replacing some of the stuff they dumped out in the kitchen,” Tyelpë announced. “There are cleaning supplies in the corner by the pantry if you’re sure you want to stay. I’ll be back.”

“They went inside too?!”

“Yes, but they only spoiled a bit of food. They don’t seem to have taken anything. Thank the Valar I keep the forge locked.”

Soon Mairon stood at the top of a ladder with a bucket of hot sudsy water, scrubbing vehemently at the slurs. The paint succumbed to his rag and brute force, but it was strangely resistant to his attempts to sing it away. As if someone had known a Maia might take part in the clean-up, and had gone to some lengths to ensure it would not be any easier for him. He heard steps in the lane and turned to look. It was too soon for Tyelpë to be home, and for a moment he feared the vandals had returned and caught him alone. But when the elf stepped out from under the holly branches, he saw it was Curufin.

With a sigh, Mairon returned to his task. He wasn’t going to be driven away, and if Curufin wanted to stand and shout at him, he supposed he would take it. As long as it was only words. He refused to let it slow him down. To his surprise, Curufin said nothing, and when Mairon looked up again, he’d found a bucket and rags of his own and was scrubbing a section of wall. They worked in silence for a long while.

“Where is he?” Curufin finally asked.

“Gone to town for supplies.”

Several more minutes passed. “Don’t think just because I’m here that I accept you. I don’t.”

“That’s fine. Hate me all you want. I don’t mind, as long as you respect his wishes.”

Curufin nodded.

When Celebrimbor came back, they’d gotten off as much of the red as they could, and Curufin was covering the remaining stains with a fresh coat of paint while Mairon carefully picked up the broken glass. They’d scraped into the plaster to ensure no trace of the writing was left. Celebrimbor stopped and watched them. “Atya. I didn’t expect you here.”

“Word spread faster than I imagine you wanted.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “Any word is more than I wanted.”

“If you’d just—” Curufin broke himself off, glaring at Mairon. It looked like a struggle, but he didn’t finish the thought.

Celebrimbor allowed the awkward silence to stretch uncomfortably long. “I do appreciate your help,” he said at last.

“Any time,” Curufin answered, and Mairon wondered why that, out of everything he’d said, should sound so gruff.

Along with his other purchases, Celebrimbor had brought enough hot meat pies for them all, and they sat in the grass under the trees to rest and eat. Though Mairon didn't require food, it did help replenish his energy faster, and he noticed that effect more now than in his past lives. Celebrimbor leaned against him, his arm casually wrapped around Mairon's waist, as if daring his father to protest.

Curufin stayed until the end of the day, working tirelessly without another word to Mairon. The windowpanes were delivered mid-afternoon, and between the three of them, they got them into place with little trouble.

“What did you say to get him to be so downright civil?” Mairon asked once he’d gone. 

“Nothing. This is the first I’ve seen of him since that day you were here. Was he rude to you?”

“Not really.”

“Does that mean ‘yes, but you don’t want to tell me,’ or ‘yes, but only a little?’”

“Umm…really he wasn’t.”

“All right. I guess we’re made up, then. About time.” At Mairon’s dubious look, he explained. “That’s his way. He almost never manages to say he's sorry; he just goes off and stews about it until he figures out he was a jerk, then he shows up and fixes something or brings a new toy for the forge, or cooks me a meal, and I know what he means.”

*

Rándil nearly bowled Mairon over in his excitement when he opened the door. Mairon petted him distractedly. The room smelled like a thunderstorm had passed through, and the dim twilight shadows were alive and reaching to swallow the last of the light.

“My lord?” he called.

Melkor stepped forward, cloaked in darkness, regal and full of a vitality that had long been missing. He smiled and tilted Mairon’s chin up to kiss him softly. “I have something for you, my precious.”

“You were so late, I was afraid something had happened to you.”

“All’s well. All is very well.” He took Mairon’s hand and raised it to his lips, then slipped a band of gold onto his finger. 

Mairon looked at the ring. It held a jagged crystal of citrine that emerged from the gold as if it had grown there. The yellow gem flashed red from deep inside when he turned it in the scant light. “My lord…it’s beautiful.”

“I saw the stone and thought of you. I know how much you’ve missed wearing your rings, and I thought perhaps you felt you’d lost the right to make any for yourself. Even if it is mere jewelry.”

He hugged Melkor tightly, marveling at how well he understood, but a whisper of doubt crept into his heart. “Where did you happen upon it?”

“If I say on the road, will you believe me?” Melkor’s smile turned impish.

“What did you do?” Mairon whispered.

“Officially, I spent another day in Lórien. That’s all Aulë’s Maiar will remember. Don’t look at me like that; don’t you trust me?”

Icy fear was devouring him, and beneath it rage began to grow. “And where were you really?”

“I made a very quick trip to a certain area of the mountains that’s caught my interest. It was quite informative. And before you ask, no one was harmed. The Maiar didn’t even have headaches.”

“You didn’t. Tell me after everything that just happened, you didn’t go and break one of Aulë’s only rules. We need his protection!”

“Little flame, it’s all right. No one will ever know.”

“How could you?! No, look at me, _how could you?!_ After everything I’ve done?” Mairon’s voice rose until he was shouting, but he didn’t care. “I have worked so hard for this. I have humiliated myself for you. I have groveled. I have begged. I have worn this stupid collar! And you’re going to throw it all away? Am I worthless to you? You’d rather spend eternity in the Void? That would be easy! Do you not understand how easy that would be? Is it so much nicer there?!” 

“Watch yourself, lieutenant,” Melkor growled. Mairon had worn the title as an honor, but after months of hearing only endearments from Melkor’s lips, it felt like a slap in the face.

“You can’t do this to me. You’re being irresponsible and childish. You need to think about what matters to you. If you’d really rather run off and play in the mountains than have a home and someone who cares about you. I would die for you. I _have_ died for you. And this is how you’re going to repay that? They’re right. You are a selfish, narcissistic tyrant with no heart and no self-control, who can’t put off snatching at the nearest treat for even a second.”

Melkor raised his hand, and Mairon knew he would hit hard. Before he realized what he was doing, he caught Melkor’s wrist. They stared into each other’s eyes in shock.

“No. Don’t strike me in anger.”

“So. It’s like this now.” Melkor’s voice was calm and cold and quiet, and it cut through Mairon like a knife. 

What had he done? Never before had he refused to accept punishment. Never had he defied his master so roundly to his face. He dropped his hand and bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

But Melkor had already turned to walk away.

“My lord, please! I’m sorry, you can punish me however you want, I didn’t mean it! Please…” He grabbed Melkor’s sleeve, but his master brushed him off.

“Don’t follow me,” Melkor said.

As he left, Mairon crumpled and fell to his knees, sobbing. What had possessed him? How could he be so petty as to rebel over a single blow? He’d taken much worse and deserved it less. His own words rang in his head, sharp and accusatory. He didn’t talk to his lord like that. No matter how strident, how certain he was right, he didn’t talk like _that._ Melkor must be furious. Mairon wondered if he’d be granted another chance to beg forgiveness. Or if, perhaps, Melkor had finally had enough. That thought choked his breath and filled him with dread. He curled up where he lay on the bare floor and wrapped his arms around himself, shaking, unable to stop crying and wishing fervently that he could wake and find this had all been a bad dream.

*

When Mairon did wake, he was nestled in downy softness: a feather pillow under his head, smooth linen sheets above him and below, Rándil warm against his side. On his other side lay Melkor, watching as he slept. Mairon flinched and tightened his fingers in Rándil’s fur, then silently cursed his mistake. Melkor wouldn’t have missed that. There’d be no hiding from whatever was to come.

“Little flame? We need to talk.”

Quietly Mairon began to weep again. Melkor pulled him into his arms and stroked his back. “Shh. You don’t even know what I have to say.”

“Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Precious…” Melkor sighed. “I’ve been putting this off for a long time, but we can’t ignore it anymore. Things have changed. You’ve changed. We can’t go on like this. I’ve come to a decision.”

“No, no, no!” Mairon clutched at Melkor’s robes, sobbing unashamedly. “You can’t! You can’t get rid of me! Please, I love you! I can do better!”

“I’m not getting rid of you! Hush and listen!” He took a corner of the sheet and dried Mairon's tears. “Can you do that?”

Mairon gave a tiny nod.

“I will give up my power over you. I recognize it was only ever mine because you chose to give it, and now you’ve denied it to me twice. I have no will to break yours. If I have to claim your obedience by force, if you can no longer offer it freely, then I will have it no more.”

Before Mairon could protest, his eyes wide and fearful, Melkor pressed a finger to his lips. 

“I will release you from your oath, and I will pray that I be permitted to remain by your side, as your lover instead of your lord.” His voice shook by the end, and he looked as terrified as Mairon had felt. Too stunned to speak, Mairon rose and embraced him tightly, clinging to him as if he could never be close enough, seeking to convey with his body how deeply he wanted him. Melkor was crying now too.

“I love you,” Mairon told him. It was the only thing he could think of that mattered. “I want you now and forever. Whatever we may be. Don’t ever think otherwise.” They held each other until they both felt steadier. When he could bear to let go again, Mairon pulled back and looked up into Melkor’s eyes. “I’m going to need to think about this.”

Melkor nodded. “Take whatever time you need. I love you. I’ll be here.”

Mairon dressed and wandered off to his workshop. In the end, it wasn't hard to decide what he wanted. He knew who he was, and he knew he was happiest when he could serve. And if Celegorm could follow in the Hunt and stand equal to his Vala at home…surely he could do the opposite? 

When he returned, he walked over to Melkor and settled on his knees. “I don’t want to stop serving you. I don’t want you to stop being my lord. But you’re right. I can’t promise myself as absolutely as I did. Do you think…” He faltered as his nerves threatened to overwhelm him. “Could we maybe agree on…on limits to what you ask of me? Things in which I am free, and things in which I bow to you?”

“I thought we had done that already. I agreed not to order you to cause harm.” Melkor sighed. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” He stroked Mairon’s cheek and smiled at him softly and sadly. “Well. I always believed surrender should be unconditional.”

Mairon was taken aback. “But…wouldn’t you rather have something than nothing? This is a new life. We don’t have to be bound by the old rules. We can…” Melkor was looking at him fondly, saying nothing, his smile unchanged. “Oh.” Mairon barely dared to speak. “You meant your surrender.”

Melkor nodded. “What is it you need for this to work?”

Although he had prepared words for this moment, they abandoned him now. He struggled to find them again. “I need to make my own decisions about my life. My goals, my purpose, my friends. And I need…in our dealings with the rest of the world, if it affects us both, I’ll do your bidding, but we decide on our choices together. At least for the big things.”

“Very well.”

“And for all that is between you and me alone, I wish to offer you my obedience.”

At that Melkor smirked. “In bed, I think you mean.”

“Especially in bed, but not only.” Mairon blushed and looked away. “I would be lost if I couldn’t kneel to you then.”

“You’ve forgotten something.” Melkor sounded serious again. “You don’t wish to be punished.”

“That's…not entirely true.” He shifted uncomfortably, thinking how to explain.

“Oh? That’s how it sounded.”

“It’s not that I don’t want it. I just…it’s always been hard to take in the heat of the moment. I don’t think I can do that anymore. I…want to know it’s earned, and not that you’re just angry. And I need to be calm enough to realize I was wrong.” Mairon bit his lip. “I don’t want to be punished without an explanation of what I’ve done. A discussion, even. Not ever again.”

“Is there any reason besides my own desires not to do away with it altogether? You've always obeyed to please me, not to avoid punishment.”

“If I’ve really upset you…or failed you somehow…and it wasn’t a reasonable disagreement, just me being thoughtless or cruel or not giving it my best…I feel so much better after you’ve punished me. Like you’ve restored me and set me where I belong again. I can let it go and stop worrying that I’m not good enough. It…it’s a kindness, when you aren’t unbearably harsh. And sometimes when you are.”

Melkor contemplated him thoughtfully. “I see. All right. I can do that. It means a lot to me too, when you so willingly renew your submission. I’ll be glad to hold on to that, and I won’t forget it’s a privilege. And Mairon? This agreement isn’t set in stone. Anytime you want to talk about it or need to change something, we can. This is new to me, and I’m afraid I’ll mess it up, but you can tell me when I do. For a while now, I’ve refrained from demanding anything because I couldn't bear to be rejected. I’d rather…I think it’s much better if we can redraw the lines instead of ignoring them and hoping it won’t hurt.”

“I think so too.” Mairon turned the new ring he wore back and forth. He hadn’t taken it off. “Can we talk about last night now?”

Melkor closed his eyes. “I understand why you were upset. I understand how it looked. But…I need you to trust me. I know I haven’t always deserved your trust, but I’m trying to be worthy of it now. This wasn’t a hasty decision, though I did take advantage of the moment to find the will to do what I needed. I can't tell you what I'm doing, because if it goes wrong, I refuse to drag you down with me. But I promise you, when it's done you'll be proud to stand beside me. I won't do anything you can't be proud of.”

Mairon considered him with care. Hadn't he just said decisions like this should be shared? But strangely enough, he found he did want to trust him. He remembered all the times Melkor had given him comfort and reassurance, insisting he didn't require what Mairon could no longer condone. He remembered the morning when they had smiled together over a shared dream. Looking up at his lord now, he saw only earnestness and love. “I can't lose you,” he said softly.

“I know. You won't.”

“Don't make me regret this.”

Melkor bent forward and kissed him, and it felt like a promise sealed. “Now. You were extremely rude to me last night.”

Mairon bowed his head. “Yes. I'm sorry.”

“I know you're capable of speaking your mind respectfully. I've heard you do it many times.” Melkor tipped Mairon's chin up. “You can be angry, and you can tell me so. But you won't resort to cheap insults.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Melkor leaned back and patted his thigh. “Come. Lay over my lap.”

 _Oh. Ohhhh._ All the remaining anxiousness in Mairon's chest melted as he scrambled to obey. Melkor did understand. He almost sobbed in relief when he heard Melkor's belt being unbuckled. Melkor pushed his robe up and his breeches down, resting a hand on his bare bottom. “Do you accept this?” he asked.

Mairon had thought that was obvious from how quickly he'd taken his place here. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”

The belt cracked down on him, and he whimpered at the welcome sting. Melkor kept a hand on his back while he beat him, more to soothe than to hold him down. They both knew he wasn't going to fight. It didn't go on long, and Melkor didn't strike as hard as he could, but it was enough. The pain washed through him, softening his shame and chasing away everything that stood between him and his master. When Melkor let him up, his ass was hot and throbbing. He curled up in Melkor's lap and put his arms around his neck.

“Are we all right now?” Melkor asked.

Mairon smiled and laid his head on his shoulder. “Completely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter next week--I'll be out of town taking a tinsmithing class! The next chapter will be up early in October. Thanks to everyone who has commented or left kudos! It's a delight to share this story with you. <3


	37. Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a new story up about Celegorm's re-embodiment and reunion with Oromë: [Flying Like A Bird To You Now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881211/)

Aulë’s apprentice had agreed to meet Mairon for a quick evaluation before he joined the class. Mairon was headed to the forge when he spotted Melkor wandering back through the halls. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Is everything all right?”

“I decided you were right, and I shouldn’t make you do all of our groveling. I went to have a word with Aulë myself. He barely let me thank him before he had me deep in conversation about mushroom uses, as if he’d never heard anything more interesting. I was…pleasantly surprised.”

Mairon smiled. “He’s been pleasantly surprising me since he found me in the wilderness.”

Pulling Mairon into his arms, Melkor kissed him gently. “I should thank him for that too. Are you going to be out late this evening?”

“No. This shouldn't take long.”

A predatory light gleamed in Melkor’s eyes. “Good.”

Mairon continued with a spring in his step. Hithumir was waiting for him with a small fire burning and his tools laid ready. Mairon inclined his head in greeting. “Lord Aulë tells me you're looking for some extra attention in your studies.”

The boy nodded, fidgeting. “Yes, sir.” He looked incredibly nervous and incredibly young.

“Let’s start with something simple. Make me a hook.”

The boy’s shoulders sagged in relief. He’d surely made hundreds by now; nothing about that request should frighten him. He set to work, tapering and scrolling the tip of an iron rod before bending it and cutting it off to shape the other end. His hammer blows were erratic, and Mairon could already see where his posture needed improvement. 

“Surely Aulë didn’t teach you to hold a hammer like that,” he said. 

Hithumir flinched. “I haven’t gotten to study directly under Lord Aulë yet, sir. I’ve several years to go before I’m good enough for that.”

 _More than a few years at this rate,_ Mairon thought to himself.

“Umm…should I show you more? I really can do a lot.”

Mairon directed him through several more exercises, but he found more of the same. Whoever had taught him had ignored the bad habits he'd formed, or perhaps hadn’t watched closely enough to see them at all, being content with his finished results. Now his poor technique was catching up to him and limiting the quality of work he could produce. “That's enough,” Mairon told him. “I'm going to retrain you starting with the basics, and you’re going to have to work very hard at doing everything the way I show you in your regular studies too, or I won't be able to help. Think you can do that?”

Hithumir nodded slowly. He looked like he might cry.

“Don't be scared,” Mairon said. “This is good. We’ll fix your problems before they get any worse, and then you'll start improving quickly.”

“It…it's fine. It’s just…that sounds like it could take a while.”

“I expect so.”

“But…I…”

“What's the issue?” Mairon demanded.

“You…you really were Sauron?”

At least the boy had the tense right. “I was.”

“It’s not that I'm…I mean, if Lord Aulë says…I trust Lord Aulë's judgment. But my parents…they were from Gondolin, long before they had me. And they're already pushing me to find another master to train with. Just because you're here. They won't be happy.”

“What do you wish to do about it? It's your education; you should choose what's best for you. You don't have to accept my help. I'm sure Aulë can find you another option. Or you could just not tell them. I think. I'm not sure what's considered an acceptable omission. It's what I would do.”

Hithumir offered a tiny smile at that, and a moment later he was struggling not to laugh outright. “I suppose I can get away with that for a while. So…I'm in?”

“You’re in. I'll see you in class tomorrow.”

He bowed respectfully. “Thank you, sir.”

*

Mairon found himself being ever so gently shaken awake in the wee hours of the morning. He wrapped himself in the blankets and tried to turn over and go back to sleep. He was sore and bruised from Melkor's attentions earlier in the evening, and he'd been dreaming very pleasantly about how he'd gotten that way.

“Mairon, please.” That caught his notice. Melkor had been crying. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected his lord’s high spirits to last much longer, but seeing him like this again after he’d been so confident and strong was hard to take. 

“What’s wrong?” Mairon asked, pulling him close.

“Can’t sleep,” Melkor murmured. “I keep having this dream…” He sighed and kissed Mairon’s forehead. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke again. “I dream that you laugh in my face and leave me forever.”

Mairon thought carefully before he spoke. He could guess what had brought this on. “I’m here with you because I want to be. You never needed my oath of service to hold me. I was yours before I made it, and I’m yours still.”

“I know. At least I tell myself that. But it hasn’t stopped the dreams yet.” He was shivering. Mairon tucked the covers around him and summoned warmth. “Mairon?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Tell me…is there anything of our past that you can look back on with unreserved gladness?”

“Oh, there is.” He settled Melkor more comfortably against him. “Do you remember when we lived in Utumno, before we discovered the Children, when you spent your days breeding monsters, and I inventing fantastical machines? Half of them didn’t even do anything useful. You used to drag me from the forge whenever you wanted to show me something, and we’d run laughing through the halls together.”

“You were so in awe of me, you shook every time I spoke to you. It surprised me a little, you were always so snarky and full of biting wit when we courted.”

“It felt so different—you owned my life; you’d become my king in all your majesty, not just the fascinating and handsome Vala who’d taken an inexplicable fancy to me.”

“It was never inexplicable,” Melkor said roughly. 

“Do you miss having me like that?”

“No. It was adorable, but I like it much better when you're bold and willing to speak your mind. I like what goes on in your mind. Even now.” He hid his face in Mairon's shoulder. “I know I…I beat a lot of that out of you, there when I got back.”

“Yes.” The light of the Silmarils had shone eerily on a lot of things he'd rather not consider. “But we're only thinking of good things tonight.” He paused briefly. “There was the day the first winged dragons hatched, and we spent hours watching them gnaw through their shells and marveling over their tiny claws and snouts.”

“Ah, that was good. They made the best neckwarmers while they were still small. When they could be convinced to lie still instead of turning somersaults in the air above my throne.”

“Do you think it would be possible to breed them again?” Mairon asked. “Or…something like them,” he quickly amended. “Something that would fit a little better here.”

Melkor raised his brow, but he didn’t reject it immediately. “They’d have to be smaller. Less fixated on treasure.” He sighed. “I’d probably need Yavanna’s approval. So it would never happen. Why do you ask, anyway? I wouldn’t have thought…we’ve no need for them anymore.”

“We can want what we do not need. You made much that was beautiful—fierce and wild things that wandered under the stars. But I loved your dragons best.”

“You complained about them often enough. Always breaking into your forge and making nests in your scrap metal.”

Mairon snorted. “And you complained constantly about my wolves. Yet somehow Draugluin never did get locked out of the bedroom, however much you threatened.”

“Hmmph.” Melkor wound one of Mairon’s curls around his finger. “I could hardly kick him out when I loved so much to watch you with him. When you transformed and went out with the pack and came home covered in blood…” Melkor shivered again, but Mairon could tell the Void had lost its hold on him. He kissed Mairon hungrily. “You…would want some of that again, wouldn't you? If you could have it without hurting the Elves? In some dark and lofty hideaway in the blowing snow, where we could follow our own pursuits?”

“You’re the one who cares for snow and ice,” Mairon answered. His curiosity was piqued. This didn't sound like the seize-a-kingdom-and-rule-as-ironfisted-tyrants idea Melkor had floated before. But Aulë's words still rang in his mind— _“I don't think Manwë will ever risk granting him his freedom.”_ He was hardly going to say that to Melkor, though; it would be too cruel. And who knew? Even Manwë might be moved to mercy, given time. “Maybe someday. I wouldn't want to give up the friends I've made.”

“Of course not,” Melkor agreed thoughtfully. “But maybe someday, you could have both.”

“I’d like that,” Mairon murmured, struggling to stay awake. “Someday.” Melkor seemed sharp and alert, but all his fear had vanished, so Mairon didn't try to force himself any longer, but let his eyes drift shut. He could almost feel the gears turning in Melkor's head. If planning for a far-off future could keep him from sinking back into despair, Mairon welcomed it.

*

Mairon stepped hesitantly into Tyelpë's forge. He’d asked Mairon to assist him in finishing some commissioned tools he would take to the convocation on Tol Eressëa, but the thought of doing more than demonstrations for his students was filling Mairon with trepidation. The last time he'd seriously crafted anything, he'd forged new Morgul-blades to send out with his Nine on their doomed mission. He couldn't help wondering whether the malice with which he'd imbued those and his earlier works might not bleed through somehow and show in whatever he attempted. Yavanna’s face when she’d repudiated Melkor's touch shone vividly in his mind.

Celebrimbor saw Mairon and set down his hammer. He wore a leather apron and no shirt. Mairon promptly lost the train of his thought. “Hey! I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got several tricky welds I’ve been saving for when I have an extra pair of hands.”

“I’m happy to be of help, but doesn’t someone do this for you usually? I’m not sure I’m the better choice; I’m a bit out of practice.”

“My dad does, most of the time. And I remember you being an even bigger perfectionist than he is, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. You’ll be fine.”

Mairon nodded his acquiescence and let Celebrimbor direct him. Soon they fell into an easy rhythm, working in tandem as if they stood once more in the Smith’s Hall in Ost-in-Edhil. Only now did Mairon realize how much he had missed this—his attention fully rapt by flame and iron, moving with Celebrimbor as if they inhabited each other’s minds. Part of him was constantly aware of Tyelpë’s body, how he stood, where he'd move next, and a slow-burning desire built in him. He sensed Tyelpë's eyes on him at times, and thought he felt the same.

“I really wish I could talk you into coming with me,” Celebrimbor said when they’d finished the last piece. In the heat, Mairon had taken his shirt off too, and they were passing a water flask back and forth.

“I'm kind of surprised we can still work so effortlessly together.” Mairon didn't mean to ignore him, but he wasn't sure how to answer either.

Celebrimbor snorted. “It only took, what, fifty years of constantly and awkwardly getting in each other's way before we figured it out? Something we struggled so hard for doesn't just disappear.”

Mairon lowered his eyes. He would have thought that ability destroyed alongside the trust that made it possible. “The Gwaith-i-mírdain will all be there. And smiths from Gondolin and Nargothrond and Doriath. It's too much; I'll be constantly called to account. I can't do that all day every day, I just can't.”

Celebrimbor pulled him close and nudged him to lay his head on his shoulder. Mairon tried to relax against him. “I don't think you’re as recognizable as you believe. Most people only encountered you on the battlefield in full armor, if at all. Even those from Ost-in-Edhil might not know you if they hadn't been close to you. I think I would feel it was you no matter what face you wore, but I'm the exception there.”

“It fills me with dread.”

“I understand. I won't try to make you go. I just think, once you were there, you might find it really good to be among so many like minds and not so terrifying as you imagine.”

Mairon sighed, and Celebrimbor gently kissed his forehead.

“Do you think the sex was so good because of how we’d learned to dance around each other in the forge, or that working finally got easier after we fucked?”

Laughing softly, Mairon snuggled closer into Tyelpë's grasp. “I haven’t the faintest clue.” He kissed Tyelpë back, capturing his lips and inviting him in. Tyelpë's hands tightened possessively on Mairon's back and in his hair. Mairon squeaked. He could feel Tyelpë’s pulse quicken as they kissed, but Tyelpë sighed and rested his forehead against Mairon's.

“I want you so badly. Why does this have to be so incredibly difficult?”

Mairon stilled, considering. “It doesn't, you know.” Celebrimbor surely must have reasons for not having brought this up himself, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to suggest it. “You could just shove me face down on the bed or up against the wall, and fuck me all you want. There's no need to put yourself in a position that makes you feel vulnerable.”

Celebrimbor grew quiet, and Mairon hoped he hadn't offended him. “I had this image fixed in my mind of how it should be. Of lying back in a nest of pillows while you took me and did everything in your power to make me feel amazing. Your fingers tracing every line of my body. Staring into your eyes while you fuck me so slowly and sweetly that I want to cry.” He blushed and looked away. “That must sound ridiculous.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Mairon murmured. “It sounds romantic and lovely, and I want to give it to you.” He hesitated, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Do you want to wait until we can make that happen? There’s a lot I think we could enjoy in the meantime.”

“I think you're right.” He trailed a hand down Mairon's chest and cupped his burgeoning erection. Mairon’s breath hitched, and he pushed forward. Tyelpë smiled. “Now is this for the thought of being shoved against a wall, or for spending all day tenderly pleasuring me?”

“Can't it be both?” Mairon clasped his hands behind him so he wouldn't give in to temptation—all he wanted in that moment was to touch Celebrimbor as deliciously as he was being touched, and he knew too well he mustn’t. “We could move this to the bed,” he offered breathlessly.

“Mm. I’d have to throw you in a tub and scrub the soot off you first.” Tyelpë was unfastening Mairon's breeches. He moaned when Tyelpë took him in hand. “I don't think I have that kind of patience. Do you mind if I get a bit rough?”

Mairon looked at him like he'd asked if the sky were blue. “I don't mind at all.”

Tyelpë gave him a fierce, bruising kiss, and grasping the nape of his neck, bent him over the anvil. “Stay there.” Mairon rested on his forearms, his ass in the air, feeling exposed. It would have been uncomfortable if it didn't turn him on so much. Tyelpë was retrieving something from a shelf—oil, he guessed. When he returned, he dragged Mairon’s breeches down and paused. “You’re all marked up already.”

“I…often am, a bit. Is that alright?”

Tyelpë squeezed his buttock and then gave him a smack. “It is. I just want to cover them up with some marks of my own. But again—no patience.” He spanked Mairon a few more times, making him squirm, and Mairon imagined he must have left some very red handprints. Then his cock was sliding against Mairon, slippery with oil, and he pushed inside so slowly that Mairon cursed in frustration and tried to thrust back onto him, seeking the rush of pain he was eager for. Tyelpë's hand met him sharply, and his fingers dug into Mairon's hips. “Nope. You'll get it when I decide.”

For someone who claimed no patience, Mairon thought it took Tyelpë horrifically long to seat himself fully in Mairon. He paused there a moment, shuddering, before he started moving in long, deep thrusts that had Mairon crying out in pleasure. Tyelpë spent inside him with a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and his hand was on Mairon again. Mairon clutched the edge of the anvil, shaking as he came.

“That was a good idea.” Tyelpë sounded almost reverent as he carefully helped Mairon up. “Now I will have to bathe you before I send you home.”

*

Mairon had just stepped inside when he heard Celebrian shouting and her footsteps pounding in the corridor. “Mairon! Mairon!!” He opened the door in time for her to dash in and fling herself into his arms. She clutched several sheets of parchment tightly in one hand. “Mairon! Oh, Melkor, you’re here too! I got a letter from Elrond! He says he'll sail this fall!”

“Oh.” If Mairon had fallen through the ice of the Helcaraxë, he didn't think he could feel more chilled. Elrond was coming. He heard the others' voices through a haze.

“And have you decided how you're going to prank him when he steps off the boat?” Melkor was asking. “After all, he only gets one first arrival in Aman.”

Celebrian shoved him lightly, giggling. “As if I’d do such a thing.” She turned back to Mairon. “Are you all right?”

He forced himself to nod. “I'm so very happy for you.”

“You don't look happy. You don't look well at all.”

“Sorry. I am glad you'll have him back. I know how awful it is to be separated so long. It’s just…I thought I’d have more time.”

“Time for what?”

“I don't know. Time to feel ready. To figure out what to say.”

Melkor looked at him curiously. “You've had no trouble figuring out what to say to anyone else.”

“This is different. This just happened. With everyone else, what I did was ages ago, they've had _time,_ but I was fighting against Elrond only…only a little while ago. A year? Two years? It might as well have been yesterday. I've hurt or killed everyone near him, and I've laid waste to his world, and I want so badly for him not to hate me.” Mairon sank into a chair and hid his face in his hands.

Celebrian came to stand before him and put her hands on his shoulders. “It’s going to be all right. I'll make sure of it. I'll tell him everything, and you'll see what kind of man he is. He took Maedhros and Maglor as his fathers after they killed everyone he knew. Don't be afraid.”

“We should write to Maglor,” Mairon murmured, rubbing his eyes. “He’ll want to hear the good news.”

“Oh, maybe he'll come to meet the boat! Wouldn't that be wonderful?”

Mairon smiled a little, glad that his worries hadn’t dampened her excitement.

“Will you write it down if I tell you what to say? You have the prettiest writing of all of us.” Melkor looked like he wanted to object, but Celebrian didn't let him. “Mairon's writing is the prettiest,” she insisted.

Mairon took a moment to compose himself while he got out ink and paper. “I'm ready. What shall we say?”


	38. Maeglin

Celegorm surprised Mairon by appearing unannounced at the garden gate under the midday sun. He had another person in tow, trailing behind him, shrouded in a long, dark cloak that looked too hot for a late summer day. Mairon wondered if Celegorm had chosen this approach as the least likely to bring him in contact with Melkor, then shook his head. Of course he had. Celegorm always seemed to know the movements of everyone around him; he would have noticed that Melkor hid from the sun in the heat of the day. Mairon had last seen him swearing at his own notes as he wrote in the darkest corner of the bedroom. He opened the gate, but only Celegorm walked through. 

“Hey, Mairon. I brought my kid to see you. He wanted to ask you some things.” 

The cloaked stranger crossed his arms, fidgeting, and said nothing.

“Your kid?” Mairon asked. “I never knew you had a child.”

“Uhh…my nephew. Cousin. Something removed? Whatever. He’s my kid in all the ways that count.” Celegorm beckoned to the other elf. “Come on, then. He won’t bite.”

He stepped forward hesitantly and pushed back his hood.

“Maeglin.” Mairon dropped to his knees. All he could think was how young he looked, but unlike Celebrian, his face was unchanged from Mairon’s memories. He’d been barely more than a child when Mairon had tortured him, and he hadn’t been alive again long.

Maeglin was staring at him, unmoving. Something rustled under his cloak, and a little black rat poked her nose out from under the fabric and nuzzled against his cheek, chirping softly. He looked over at her and stroked her head. “Shh, I’m all right, little one, everything’s okay.” When he turned back, he seemed calmer. “Get up. I just want to talk. I don’t want…whatever it is you were thinking.”

“I—all right.” Mairon rose. “Ahh…make yourself comfortable in the garden? I assume you don’t want to see Melkor; I’ll go ask him not to interrupt.”

Maeglin’s eyes widened at the name, and he glanced wildly at Celegorm, who laid a hand on his arm. “That would be best,” Celegorm told Mairon.

Mairon returned to find them sitting on the grass under a tree. Celegorm leaned back easily against its trunk, whittling something with a little knife. Maeglin was hunched over, cradling his rat against his chest. Mairon lowered himself to the ground nearby and hoped he'd left enough room between them. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly.

Maeglin flinched at the sound, but when he looked up, his eyes were hard and bold. “That rolls very nicely from your tongue. Do you have to practice, or do the words taste so much better when you're already an accomplished liar?”

It didn't even hurt. Mairon saw the frightened boy who had clutched him, weeping, and he wondered if Maeglin could say anything at all that he would take amiss. “They taste bitter enough, if only because I wish I hadn’t made them necessary.”

“I don't think you can have said them many times yet. They keep getting harder if you mean them, and then they choke you.” The rat crawled into a pocket, and with his hands empty, Maeglin started digging his nails into his palms.

Mairon ached to offer him comfort. “How did they taste to you, then?”

“Like ashes and marble dust and burning flesh,” he whispered. He bit his lip, and then his words poured out, as if he didn't dare slow down for fear of losing them altogether. “Turgon wanted me 'reconciled,' whatever that’s supposed to mean. He said I had to apologise to everyone I’d betrayed, and that would be it, we’d all put it behind us. He didn't even care how long it took me. We agreed I’d spend a couple mornings a week at court, talking to the people of Gondolin, and I think we both believed that was fair and merciful and just. I only made it a few weeks. One morning I just collapsed and started screaming that it wasn’t my fault. They had to carry me to the healers, and they had to send me on to Lórien, and I was not invited back.”

“It wasn't your fault, though,” Mairon said.

Maeglin stared up at him through the curtain of silky black hair that had fallen over his unnaturally pale face. “No? But if I were a decent person, a good person, I would never have given in. I wouldn't have broken. So then, am I so pitifully weak, or am I evil and greedy as they all say? It has to be one or the other.”

“Maeglin…” Mairon considered, and decided that perhaps the best thing he could give him was the unvarnished truth. “Everyone breaks. Everyone. Under enough pain, enough pressure, people will say anything to make it stop. They start talking, and eventually in the jumble of all they think you want to hear, you get enough real information to piece things together. You get confessions. You get agreement to whatever you demand. You get a person incapable of resisting whatever compulsion you want to put them under. And when you tell them it wouldn't have worked if they'd only been a little stronger, you get someone whose guilt will continue the job for you. I was the unparalleled master of my craft. It was not your fault or your weakness that you broke.”

“Celebrimbor didn't break.” 

“Is that what he told you?”

“Everyone knows—” 

“Everyone knows shit. Of course he broke. He couldn't give up the rings because he had planned on exactly that happening, and he managed to arrange things so he wouldn't know whose hands they were in. He named a lot of names, but I could speculate as well as he, and that wasn't helpful.” He didn’t mention what he’d considered the greater part of his failure, that by the time Celebrimbor had laughed, coughing up frothy blood with every pained breath, and said, “All right, Annatar. You win. I’ll do whatever you say. Give me an army. A forge in Mordor. That crown you promised. I just want it over,” he’d been too far gone to save, and Mairon had been too angry at his stubbornness to stop. 

“It’s not the same with me, though,” Maeglin murmured. “Maybe if I’d ended up with my body as a twisted banner, I wouldn’t feel so ashamed. But you…I fell for it. I was stupid, and I fell for it. You sent me home without a single mark still on me. I shouldn’t even get to say I was broken. I was a weak-minded fool.”

“I was the unparalleled master of my craft,” Mairon repeated. “There were no marks so that no one would believe you if you managed to throw off my lord's enchantment and tell. I knew what I was doing. I knew what would bring you to heel. Everything I did was intentionally chosen to gain your compliance. You never stood a chance, and there's no shame in that.”

Maeglin pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “You made me feel like you really saw me. No one—almost no one had done that before. You saw _me,_ not the poor kid Aredhel died to save, not that asshole Eöl's brat, not that weird guy we only keep around because he’s useful. Me. Someone with thoughts and opinions and feelings and worth. And I should have known that was too good to be true.” He heaved a sigh. “I must have been such an amusing toy.”

Mairon wished fervently that he knew how to help, to untangle the knots he had tied. 

“Did I ever tell you how he did it, Uncle?”

Celegorm looked up from the bit of wood he was carving. “You don't have to say any more than you want,” he reminded him gently.

“But I do want. I want you to know. I want him to have to acknowledge it.” His hands were trembling as he turned back to Mairon. “You told me that anything you failed to do to me, Morgoth would do to you. That you were his captive. That you were afraid. You cried every time you hurt me, and then you held me in your arms until I stopped crying, and you told me everything would be okay. Until I cared. Until I wept when you ‘slipped’ and let me see the same marks on you. Told me you'd been protecting me from the worst. That it wouldn’t stop until Gondolin was in his hands. That you could perhaps save one or two that I chose if I cooperated sooner rather than later.” His lip curled in disgust, and Mairon’s eyes stung with tears he struggled to hold back. “Was that your idea, or his?”

“Mine,” Mairon whispered. 

“I suppose it was a good one. It certainly worked. ‘Arda’s best torturer’ is a hell of a title, but I guess it is yours. Are you proud of it?”

“I am not.” His voice threatened to crack as he forced out the words. Celegorm held his project as if he were working, but Mairon saw his knife had stilled. “I'm so sorry for everything I did to you. And especially for making you feel you were somehow to blame. If there's anything I can—” 

Maeglin shook his head. “You owe me, sure, but I'm not ready for that. Later. Hold that thought.” He tapped long, delicate fingers against his foot, and Mairon remembered the day he'd broken them while Maeglin wailed and begged not to lose his hands. Begged him to break ribs or his legs instead. He'd set the bones carefully and immediately, sped their healing with a few notes of Song. Told the boy he wouldn't lose the use of them—this time—but that he might always have pain. Told him he mustn’t risk waiting until he was forced to do it again. He lowered his eyes and tried to ignore how his insides had turned to lead.

“You looked so sad,” Maeglin said at last. “I don't know how I thought you would look now, but I didn't expect even sadder. If it's an act, you've improved over the years.”

Mairon didn't answer.

“That's good. Satisfying. It's what I’d hoped for, I think. That Celegorm was right and seeing how you’d ruined my life would hurt you. The appearance is nice, whether or not it's true.” He sighed, rolling a strand of hair between his fingers. “It's strange, the things people believe and the things they won’t. Idril believed for all these years that I was trying to kill her son, there at the end. When all I did was pick him up and put my body between him and the orcs’ swords in hope that Morgoth's token would be respected and preserve him. I’d’ve tried to save Tuor for her too, if he'd just listened. It’s not like I knew they had an exit. That was the worst, her shouting at me when I got back, while I tried to explain.”

“You still care for her?” It radiated from the way he spoke her name, with worship.

Maeglin snorted. “I don’t know how it is for you, but a great many elves love once and love forever. It’s my misfortune that didn’t work out. Aren’t you back with Celebrimbor?”

Mairon nodded hesitantly. 

“Did he, at any point when you were cutting him into little pieces and sticking him on a pole, stop loving you?”

Celegorm twitched as if he expected at any moment to have to step in and break up violence, but neither of them moved.

“No. He didn’t.”

“So why does everyone assume I can switch off my feelings for Idril? I know she won’t ever have me. I knew it then. I know she never owed me a thing, and I don’t know what I did to make everyone believe I thought otherwise. But if I could just decide to stop desiring her, don’t you think I’d have done it already? I even asked Lórien to make it go away, and do you know what they said? ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly, it would change who you are.’ Uhh, yes, that’s the point! Why would I want to go on being me?” He paused for breath, scowling.

“They told me the same thing,” Mairon offered. 

Maeglin studied him appraisingly. “What did you ask for?”

“To make me stop enjoying hurting people.”

“You know, that problem at least has solutions. Unlike mine. Some people are actually into that.”

Mairon thought Celegorm would choke on his laughter. “He knows. Trust me, he knows.”

Narrowing his eyes, Maeglin looked back and forth between them. Celegorm's amusement was contagious, and Mairon found himself ruefully smiling too. “Oh.” Maeglin seemed abashed for a moment, but he quickly shook it off.

“So you did get to explain to her?” Mairon asked. “Was she willing to listen?”

“I dunno. She said very solemnly that she forgave me. I don't know how much she meant it; I don’t see her really. She’s always at sea with her husband. And even if she weren’t, she doesn’t visit the mainland. I write to her once in a while, and sometimes she writes back. It’s probably best that way.” He fished the rat from his pocket where she’d fallen asleep and concentrated on gently stroking her fur. She stirred but curled up again in his hand and resumed her nap. “This is the most time I’ve spent talking in I don’t know how long. You’re still so easy to talk to. I don’t see why; I know now what you did. It was all a lie; I never meant anything to you. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maeglin, do you…not have friends? Anyone?”

Maeglin rolled his eyes. “I have my mother and I have Celegorm. Everyone else calls me ‘Traitor of Gondolin’ instead of my name and turns away if they see me. Oh, I guess I should count Caranthir. He feeds me sometimes when I’m wandering up in the mountains. I think he’s as lonely as I am. Neither of us say much, though.” 

“I keep telling you, you're family, you're invited to family dinners,” Celegorm interjected. “You don't have to be like this.”

“Yes, and if I show up and you’re wrong and they all hate me, where does that leave me? Down one comforting fantasy.”

“One of these days, I'm just going to kidnap you,” Celegorm grumbled.

“How do you…are you still working as a smith? As a miner? How do you get anything done?” Mairon asked.

“There are people willing to buy rare ores from me. A few. And that’ll pay for a bit of ironwork, usually when I'm traveling where I'm not so well known. Mostly repairs and knife sharpening, honestly.”

“That’s…that’s…do you think if I tell people the truth…?” It sounded so meager, and far less than he deserved.

“It won’t make a difference,” Maeglin said with the easy confidence of someone who’s given up. “Why should anyone believe or care what Sauron has to say? They’ll assume you’ve been forced into being a scapegoat.”

A thought occurred to Mairon. It would mean facing his own fear, but if it could help Maeglin… “When’s the last time you’ve gotten to spend time around other smiths?”

The intense longing that flickered over Maeglin’s face told him enough. “It’s been a while.”

“Would you want to attend the convocation this fall?”

“I’m…pretty sure I’m not allowed on Tol Eressëa. Besides, I’ll just get run out.”

“You think that’ll happen if you’re with me?” _The good kind of scary,_ Eluréd had called him. Or maybe it had been Elurín. _Scary enough that you could frighten away anything that wanted to hurt us._ He wondered if he could make use of it without creating more trouble in the process.

Maeglin tilted his head and looked at him intently. “Are you offering…?”

“I’ll be your shield.”

“We’ll both have to keep quiet and stay out of the way. Do more watching than talking.”

“As I recall, you’re good at that.”

“It won’t help my reputation any to be seen in public with you.”

“Can it honestly get any worse?”

“You shouldn’t discount it. But for the convocation…” Maeglin twisted his face into something resembling a smile. “If you can make that happen, I’ll consider accepting your apology.”

*

“Lord Aulë?” 

Aulë turned and set down the sheaf of papers he held. “What can I do for you, Mairon?”

Mairon sketched a brief bow. “I've been talking to some people about the smiths’ convocation.”

“Oh, did you want to go? I’d be glad to see you get out and meet more people. I'll be there for the opening ceremonies, but after that Angtári will be representing me. If you'll agree to check in with her once a day and not leave the convocation grounds, you can attend.”

Internally Mairon growled at the thought of answering to the Maia who had taken his place as Aulë’s right hand, but he did his best to keep his emotions off his face. It wasn't like he ever wanted the position back, and it wasn't Aulë’s fault he despised his former rival so. “That would be most acceptable; thank you, my lord. That’s actually only half of what I wanted to ask, though.”

Aulë quirked an eyebrow.

“Do you know of the smith Maeglin, and are you familiar with his situation?”

“Maeglin of Gondolin?”

Mairon nodded. “I wondered if he might accompany us—I believe it will be myself, Lord Celebrimbor, Geleth, and any other of my students who are interested.” He suspected none of them would care to be caught in such a crowd, but he had yet to offer.

“I certainly approve of you taking Geleth along; she'll learn a lot. Maeglin on the other hand…” Aulë stroked his beard and was silent for a time. “There are reasons few people welcome him.”

“I only ask because he’d come to talk with me the other day. I wanted to do something nice for him—I've been thinking how unfair it is that in so many ways, I've found more acceptance here than he has when the only thing he did wrong was to fall into my hands and suffer there. It seems a shame that I’d be permitted to go and not him.” Mairon wondered if it still counted as manipulative if he was sincere.

If it did, Aulë didn't notice or didn't care. He nodded slowly. “I'll talk to Fingolfin. It's up to him, but I imagine we can arrange a pass for Maeglin, if he'll abide by the same restrictions as you.”

Mairon's smile at that was bright and unforced, and Aulë looked happy to see it.


	39. Preparation

Mairon lay curled against Melkor's chest with his master's arm tugged across him, craving the warmth and weight of his body. He wasn’t cold, exactly, but he missed the thick furs of their bed in Angband and the way they held him down, safe and secure, when his mind threatened to spin out of control. Maeglin’s words danced around and around. _“I collapsed, screaming, and I was not invited back.” “Am I so pitifully weak?” “Traitor of Gondolin instead of my name…”_

“You’re restless tonight, little flame.” Melkor's deep voice drew him back.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he murmured.

“I can hardly complain when I've woken you so often. What's troubling you?”

Haltingly Mairon told him of his conversation with Maeglin. As he spoke, he realized how solidly he’d pushed aside his own emotions so that he could take in Maeglin’s. They returned in full force to him now. “And so…and so he has no one and nothing, and everyone hates him for something he should never have been blamed for, and I…” He was sobbing into Melkor’s shoulder while Melkor stroked his back. “I made him trust me, and then I betrayed him.” He felt Melkor take a breath as if to speak. “Don’t you dare even think a word of praise for what I did,” he interrupted vehemently. Melkor had been so pleased when he’d finally led Maeglin to kneel before his throne and offer up his city, and Melkor’s pleasure had been so scarce by then that Mairon had hoarded every approving glance like the rarest jewels. That moment had been a triumph, and the thought of it made him sick.

“I’m sorry, precious,” Melkor said softly. “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even understand why it’s so upsetting to you, but I’d take away your pain if I could.”

“I know you would.”

“Little flame?” Melkor sounded hesitant. “You weren’t the cause of all his suffering. You don’t have to be sad for the things that weren’t your doing. His own people chose to reject him. I suppose it’s unfair, but…life is unfair to everyone. Will you weep for all the ills of the world?”

Mairon cried harder, and Melkor wrapped his arms around him tightly. “Nonono, shh, forget I said it. Ignore me, I shouldn't have spoken.”

“Shut up and hold me,” Mairon sobbed.

Melkor did.

*

“Tyelpë?” Mairon began. “If I agreed to go with you to the convocation, would you mind if I brought someone else too?” Celebrimbor had come over before their class to spend some time planning lessons, and they were sitting in the library, their notes arranged before them with Mairon’s precise neatness.

“Oh! You’re reconsidering? Who’d you have in mind? I thought we’d ask our students.”

“I thought so too. But I’d also like Maeglin to come with us.”

Celebrimbor’s head snapped up from the drawing he’d been occupied with. “Maeglin? I’d heard…I haven’t seen him since my time in Gondolin. How is he? Of course he should come.”

“You knew him? You would be…friendly? He…Aman hasn’t been kind to him. I wanted to help if I could.”

“I spent some time there after the Nirnaeth. We were…as close, I think, as he let anyone get. After the city fell, when we pieced together what had happened…I was with my uncle right after Fingon dragged him in mostly dead. I knew what went on in Angband. I never thought less of him. And any doubts I might have had…no one should have to endure that.”

Mairon dropped his eyes, unable to meet Celebrimbor’s piercing look. “I didn't know you'd lived there. Were you there when it fell?”

“No. I was the last envoy Turgon sent to the Havens before they collapsed the gates. I always wondered…if I hadn’t left when I did…maybe he could have confided in me.”

“I don't think he could’ve overcome the enchantment he was under,” Mairon murmured, almost too quiet to be heard. “I’m glad you weren't there.” 

Celebrimbor reached over and squeezed his hand. “It's all done with now.”

“It isn't though. Not for Maeglin. He says everyone still blames him. He’s an outcast, here, where no one—” He wasn’t able to finish.

“That's awful, but I'm not surprised. Too many people won’t take the time to think about what they’d do themselves in that situation. You really need to build those expectations into a community from the ground up—that everyone is welcome, that everyone deserves a chance, whatever you think about them. I’ve been continually disappointed here. Those who never left think it’s already perfect and that they don’t need to make room for all those who’ve had fundamentally different experiences of the world, and those who’ve returned…they tend to have their own sets of prejudices.”

“You were building something better,” Mairon said softly.

“I tried.”

 _You were so much wiser than me. Why couldn't I have listened? Maybe you would have accepted who I really was, even then._ He said none of it aloud—he hated making Tyelpë feel like he should comfort him, and he'd already skirted closer than he should. But Tyelpë seemed to perceive his thoughts anyway. He pulled Mairon in to lean against his chest and combed his fingers gently through his hair.

“We’ll make sure Maeglin has a good time, and we’ll be there for him in the future, however we can.”

“Thank you.”

“He was my friend. I want to see him happy, too.”

“There’s something he said that's been bothering me.” He sat up and moved away from Tyelpë's touch.

“Oh?”

“He said it's Eldarin nature to love forever, no matter what, and I...I hadn't thought of it like that. I don't want you to be stuck with me because you only got one chance to love and had the worst luck. That’s not right. You shouldn't lose your choice. It's not…I don't…I...”

“Mairon.” Tyelpë said his name gently, and he was glad he hadn’t called him Annatar as he sometimes did. He didn't think he could have borne that reminder now. “If I'd never seen you again, I would have had a good life anyway. I didn't think of you constantly anymore. When I did, you were just an ache in my heart and a flare of old pain. You didn't rule my waking mind—you did for a while. It passed. I would have built myself happiness. Maybe I’d have found more love—my great-grandfather did. Finrod did. Or maybe I’d have been content with the love of friends. Either way, I wouldn't have remained alone.”

“But…after you did see me again…”

“Listen. If I thought you weren’t truthful, if I thought you would hurt me again, I would be gone, and you would go back to being a bittersweet ache when I heard your name. I'm not constrained in any way by what I feel.” He took Mairon's hand. “I am very happy to have you in my life again, though. Does that help?”

Mairon closed his eyes and nodded, and was surprised by Tyelpë's lips soft against his.

“I chose you,” he whispered. “You don't have to be afraid.”

*

A few days before the convocation was to begin, Mairon went out to Celebrimbor’s cottage to help him pack the tools and ironwork he was taking. Once everything was in the cart, securely covered and fastened in place, Celebrimbor drew him inside.

“We need to talk about what you’re going to wear. Do you have formal robes? I have some that should fit you…”

“I have one. Will I need more?”

“There’ll be several events you’ll need them for. We might not go to all of them…here, which do you like? Just so you have a spare.” Celebrimbor opened his wardrobe and pulled out several heavily embroidered garments. Mairon reached for a robe of deep red.

“Mmm, I figured it would be that one.” He held it up to Mairon. “A tiny bit long, maybe, but it should work. Didn’t we used to be the same height?”

“Did we?” Mairon carefully folded the robe.

“You know what this means?”

Mairon scowled at him.

“It means it’s easier to do this.” He grasped Mairon’s hair firmly at the nape of his neck and pulled his head back, kissing him fiercely until his gasp turned to needy whimpers. Celebrimbor grinned at the frustrated sound Mairon made when he released him. “Now, what about jewelry?”

Mairon took a moment to compose himself. “I don’t have any. I…didn’t really think it was appropriate. I don’t want to look too proud.”

“I’m sure that’s been the right idea, but for a formal gathering of Noldor, you won’t look humble without it, you’ll just look undressed. Would you let me pierce your ears?”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Mairon found it hard to sit still with Tyelpë’s fingers on his sensitive ears, first marking them and then carefully pushing a needle through. He couldn’t hold back a moan at the small, sharp pain. 

Tyelpë paused. “Does that feel good to you?”

“I can’t help it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I’d rather you like it than not.” Tyelpë laid a gentle kiss to his temple and continued. By the time he was done, Mairon’s earlobes both held small gold rings, and several gems studded the edges of his ears. “Lovely,” Tyelpë declared. “A little gold in your hair, and you’ll look perfect. Not too flashy, but not too plain either.” He crossed the room to retrieve something. “I wasn’t sure if you…if this would be all right. If you can’t accept it…I just thought, since you’re wearing one already…” He sighed. “I made you this.” He held out a silver ring. “I won’t be hurt if you need to say no.”

Mairon could see in his eyes that wasn’t true. “This isn’t ‘have some jewels so you’ll look decent’ anymore.”

“No. This is ‘I love you and hope you’ll want to wear something of me always.’ The other one’s from Melkor, isn’t it?”

Mairon nodded, glancing down at the fiery stone on his finger. He held his other hand out to Tyelpë. “Did you mean the layers upon layers of symbolism this could have for us?” 

“I asked myself that a number of times while I was making it. I never could quite decide. I did mean what I said—I don’t want you to take it if it will upset you.”

“I think it will make me happy to look at it and think of you far more often.”

Tyelpë slipped it onto his finger. The wide band sparkled with tiny garnets that were scattered across it like blood-red stars. 

Mairon caught his breath. “Why garnets?” he whispered.

“I had the strangest dream about you a while back. I helped you gather up some garnets you’d spilled, and you looked so happy when I did. I never want to forget the smile you gave me in that dream. I hope I can make you smile like that someday waking.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

Tyelpë shrugged. “Too bad.”

*

When Mairon got home that night, Melkor looked him up and down, then seized his hand. “Tyelpë’s work?” He inspected the ring.

Mairon nodded, a frisson of fear running down his spine.

“Pretty. I don’t want to see it on you unless you’re wearing mine too.”

“Yes, master.” That was easy; he didn’t intend to take either off except in the forge. 

Melkor smirked and ran a finger along Mairon’s ear. Mairon flinched. “Are they sore? I bet you haven’t told sweet Tyelpë they won’t heal so fast.”

“I…hadn’t really thought about it.” He wondered if he'd ever get used to his new limitations. He bit his lip. The thought of sleeping in a tent for a week with his ears hurting the whole time was not appealing.

“Don’t worry,” Melkor purred, his teeth tugging at the gold and making Mairon yelp. “I’ll take care of you.” Tears were filling Mairon’s eyes as Melkor toyed with him. “Later. If you beg nicely.”

His torment seemed to stretch for hours. Between bouts of playing with his ears until they bled, Melkor perched him in his lap and ran a knife tip over his skin, never breaking it but leaving angry red lines until he was so sensitive he could scarcely stand to be touched, or pushed him to his knees and choked him on his cock. Mairon went wherever he was moved, obediently presenting whatever Melkor wanted to hurt next, though soon he had to concentrate not to jerk away when Melkor reached for him. He was weeping into his master's chest, his mouth still tasting of come, utterly lax because fighting it only made the pain worse, when Melkor's hands shifted to soothing.

“Are you enjoying yourself, little flame?”

Mairon wiped his nose and took a shaky breath, biting down on the _No!_ that rose too fast to his lips. “It pleases me to please you, my lord.” It did; even now he felt a deeply settled satisfaction at the sated lust he could sense in his master. “It pleases me to offer you my pain. I'm happy to suffer all night if you wish it.” He hoped Melkor wouldn't, but a soft curl of arousal unwound within him at the thought.

Melkor hummed contentedly, a warm, rich sound that filled him with certitude that he'd done well. “My precious little Maia, so sweet and willing and good. That's not what I asked. I want to know if you're having fun.”

Mairon almost moaned in pleasure at the praise, but he gave his head a tiny shake. “It hurts too much. It’s hard to bear.”

“Then it's enough.” Melkor's breath on his ears cooled them, and within moments the pain was gone. “You pleased me so well. Do you want to come? You deserve it after that.” Melkor snuggled him close, kissing him softly as he pulled the blankets up. 

Mairon took stock of himself. The pain from the piercings had struck him the wrong way, and his body hadn’t reacted as it usually did. He’d never managed to find the place where everything danced over him and changed to rapture. It had just hurt, and now he was completely wrung out. “I don't think I could.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Melkor promised. He turned pensive. “If it were too much…more than you wanted to give me…you'd tell me, wouldn't you?”

 _Would you listen?_ Mairon thought. Then he carefully thought some more, and realizing he trusted Melkor not to fly into a rage, he asked it out loud.

“I would,” Melkor answered. “From you, I want only willing sacrifice. I enjoyed tonight immensely, but I won't have it at the cost of breaking you.”

Mairon was quiet for a while. “There was no point tonight when I wanted you to stop. Not really. I…might've wanted, if you'd gone much longer.”

“Tell me. I don't want to go further than you’re willing. That's an order.”

“Yes, my lord.” Mairon nestled in his arms, content and warm, feeling like he'd won a double victory. “Tell me again how good I was?”

Melkor snorted. “Little minx. You were brave and good and so beautiful writhing in pain for me, and the ecstasy of tasting your tears will be my undoing. Happy now?”

Mairon nodded with a smug smile, curling his fingers in Melkor's hair and breathing deeply of thunder and graveyards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't try this at home--tugging on new piercings is very bad for them. But I'm sure you knew that already.


	40. Convocation

Aulë had offered to let Mairon’s little group join his train of followers for the trip out to the island, but neither Mairon nor Maeglin wanted to spend time among people who would surely resent their presence, so they agreed to meet with Celebrimbor and Geleth early in the morning outside Aulë’s halls and travel on their own. Geleth had gone inside to have a few words with Melkor, and Celebrimbor was leaning against Mairon, pondering aloud the improvements he was making on a new astrolabe design. Mairon chimed in occasionally with questions or suggestions. They heard clattering hoofbeats before Maeglin appeared, slightly disheveled.

“Sorry if I'm late,” he said tersely as he swung down from his horse. “I almost talked myself out of coming.”

“You’re fine,” Celebrimbor answered. “We’re still getting ready. Mairon hasn’t even loaded up his horse.”

Maeglin nodded acknowledgement but refused to meet Celebrimbor's eyes. He turned and fiddled with his horse’s tack. Crossing the distance between them, Celebrimbor held out his arms. “Hey, Maeglin?” He waited until Maeglin hesitantly moved toward him to fold him in a hug and kiss his cheek. “It's really good to see you again.”

“I don't see why, but I'm glad you think so.” He returned Celebrimbor's kiss and rested his forehead on his shoulder for a moment before stepping back. “Feels weird that _he_ should be the one to bring us back together,” he glanced to Mairon, “but I suppose it's no weirder than anything else we've been through. I was sorry to hear what happened to you. Wish I could've…been there…said anything of use…in the Halls.”

Celebrimbor laid a hand on his cheek. “You had more than enough to worry about just taking care of yourself. I got what I needed, and I hope you did, too.”

Maeglin shrugged, but Geleth re-emerged with Rándil bouncing at her heels, and Maeglin drew back and swallowed whatever else he might have said. Mairon saw the moment he realized Rándil was not a dog, but a wolf—his eyes grew wide and fearful, and he pressed against Celebrimbor. Mairon intercepted Rándil, grabbing his collar and ruffling his ears as he put him back inside the gate. “Be good for Melkor while I'm gone,” he told him, kissing his head fondly. Rándil yipped and jumped on the gate when Mairon turned away, but he dropped his feet to the ground at the look Mairon gave him.

“He's usually well-behaved,” Mairon said, half in apology, half explanation. “He just wants to say hi to the horses.”

Maeglin looked doubtful, but he relaxed.

“You must be Maeglin; well met!” Geleth bowed to him deeply. “I’m Geleth, formerly of Thargelion. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you.” 

“Well—I’ve heard you were held in Angband.”

He nodded curtly, turning to his horse and unfastening a couple of packages from his saddle. “Tyelpë, is there room in your cart for some things?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Tyelpë answered as he helped Mairon with his bags.

“So was I,” Geleth added quickly. That grabbed Maeglin’s attention. “That makes you one of us—I was a slave there. We stick together.”

Maeglin gave her a tiny smile at that. “I see. How’d you fall in with this lot?” He gestured at Mairon and Tyelpë.

“I’m Mairon’s apprentice. And Melkor’s.”

“Student, not apprentice,” Mairon corrected gruffly.

“Why can’t you ever let that go? They’re practically the same thing.”

“No, apprentice implies that you serve us. That you owe us your labor.”

“Ah, yes. And I paid in advance.”

Mairon snorted and carried on packing.

Maeglin stared. “How can you joke about that?!”

“I dunno. It’s easier to laugh about it than to be angry all the time. For me, anyway. Hey, what about protégé?” she called to Mairon. “Student doesn’t sound serious enough.”

“Fine, you can be my protégé. If you don’t mind people wondering what else you might be learning from me beside smithcraft.”

Geleth’s smile showed a lot of teeth. “I don’t think I mind at all.”

“So…” Maeglin sounded unsure. “I guess I can understand having a deal like that with Mairon, but… _Morgoth?_ Like, you sit down and have _lessons_ with him? Has he ever…apologized in any way?”

“Not…precisely. He told me once that I’d been wasted as a thrall in the mines, that he wished he'd known my potential as a smith back then, that he'd have offered me a good position and riches besides.”

“No! What’d you do?”

Geleth grinned. “I told him it was just as well he hadn’t, for I'd've spat in his face and gotten myself killed. He laughed and said that would have been a pity, and that he was glad we’d met here on better terms.”

“You weren’t afraid? I don’t think I could speak to him at all, much less…”

“There’s nothing to fear; he’s only been kind to me since we met. Odd and fey at times, but never threatening. Sometimes I think…all of this is very foreign to him. Us and our lives. I don’t know. I don’t mean to excuse him—I don’t think I’ve quite forgiven him myself. Just…whatever it means to put things right, to…find redemption, I suppose…it would have to look very different for him. I think what he might want and what he’s able to say might not ever match up. So. It’s apology enough that he teaches me, even if he doesn’t exactly mean it that way.”

Mairon had stilled, listening. He hadn’t thought of it like that, and her perceptiveness surprised him. When had she come to know Melkor so well? But everything was ready, and it was time to leave, so he mounted his horse and tucked his ponderings away for later. 

“You’re...bringing rats?” Celebrimbor was checking over the cart where Maeglin had carefully wedged in a traveling cage.

“They go where I go. Is that a problem?”

Celebrimbor replaced the covering and clucked to his pair of ponies. “Not at all; they're welcome. Do you still keep moles for pets too, like you did?”

Maeglin smiled a little at that. “I didn’t have those for very long; they were too much work, and if you took them from their tunnels for more than a few minutes, their hearts would start racing; I’m sure they would have died of terror. There was a certain delicious irony to it—me, having pets too desperate for solitude and dark and their hiding places to touch. But I need something sturdier and friendlier to keep me company now.” A nose poked out of the front of his robe, and a grey and white rat with big ears climbed up and sat on his shoulder.

“Oh! I didn’t realize you were carrying one too,” said Geleth. 

“He likes to ride in my pocket.”

“Could I hold him?”

“Umm…” Maeglin seemed distinctly uncomfortable again, and he edged his horse subtly away. “I…they’re sort of…working animals. I don’t let other people handle them. Usually no one asks. Usually they kind of…gross people out.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know. That one’s adorable.”

“I…guess it wouldn’t hurt anything if you pet the ones in the cage.”

“Maybe when we stop later? Only if you really don’t mind.”

Maeglin nodded. His eyes flickered to her hand. “Those rings—are they Dwarvish make?”

“I made them myself, not too long ago.”

“You…spent time with Dwarves, then? In Thargelion?”

“I did. Trading under Lord Caranthir, and then…later. After I was freed, and chose not to go back. I lived with them for a while, under the mountains. I know it’s strange. I just…I think I’d been underground for so long, the open skies were terrifying, and…my lord was gone, and they made me feel close to him again.”

“I know exactly what you mean, about the sky. I still remember the first time I stepped beneath it, and thought I might fall right off the world.” He smiled at her wryly. “If it’s strange, I’m strange too—eh, not that that’s new. I grew up studying in Dwarvish smithies off and on. Did you ever see Nogrod in its heyday?”

“A few times.”

They started exchanging tales of their stays in the great Dwarvish cities, growing more animated the longer they spoke. At that point, Celebrimbor joined in, and Mairon rode beside him, happy just to listen. When they reached the ferry and crossed over to Tol Eressëa, they all felt the road had been too short.

*

Mairon was sure Gil-galad's opening speech was eloquent and stirring, but he heard little of it. 

“It won't go long,” Tyelpë promised when he asked if they had to stay. “And then there’ll be music, and fire dancers, and lots of good food, and you'll enjoy that.” 

For a moment Mairon considered waiting outside, but the hall was silent, listening to the king, and the thought of drawing attention was worse. Gil-galad’s voice called up memories he'd rather have forgotten, and he tried not to think of his blood running over his gauntlets and soaking through the joints of his armor. His hand throbbed with the pain of a lost finger, and knowing it wasn't physical didn't help. Hiding his face against Tyelpë, he rubbed his thumb over the new rings he wore. He’d rather have those and everything they meant than the One he’d lost. By far. Tyelpë put his arm around him, and that was better. He rested against him, and sure enough, Gil-galad soon stepped back, and musicians began to play. Mairon took little note of who else sat on the dais.

Between food and wine and the silvery notes of harps and flutes, the evening quickly improved. Mairon was beginning to think his few minutes of discomfort worth bearing when he glanced over at Maeglin and realized something was wrong. His breath had gone shallow and quick, and his rat was nuzzling insistently at his chin.

“I know, I know!” he whispered at the rat. “I can’t!”

Mairon paused for only a second—he’d never dare touch Tyelpë when he panicked, but he himself would give anything for friendly hands to soothe him in the same situation—and tapped Maeglin’s shoulder. “Let’s get you outside, okay?”

Maeglin nodded desperately and crumpled into Mairon’s arms. That answered that question.

“Tyelpë!” Mairon leaned toward him and spoke quickly. “Maeglin’s not well; see you back at camp.”

“Do you want me to help?” Tyelpë asked, his eyes alight with concern.

Already moving away, Mairon shook his head. “I’ve got this.” He guided Maeglin through the crowds. By the time they made it outside, he was visibly trembling. Mairon steered him toward a nearby copse of trees where he’d have some privacy, and they sank into the thick carpet of pine needles. Mairon tried to back off and give Maeglin room, but Maeglin clung to him tightly. “It’s just us, there’s no one here; no one’s going to hurt you. Everything’s all right.” Maeglin didn’t seem able to speak; Mairon wasn’t even sure he’d heard. Gently patting his back, Mairon held him and wished he hadn’t turned Tyelpë down. He might have known better what to do.

After a while, Maeglin raised a shaky hand to pet the rat still crouching on his shoulder, nestled under his braid. “He was there,” he whispered.

“Who was?”

“Turgon.” It came out as a sob. 

“He’s not here now. You’re alone. You don’t have to see anyone you don’t want.”

“This was a stupid idea. I can’t do it.”

“You don’t have to stay. But…it is a big crowd. I doubt he saw you. There’s no reason you should run into him if you don’t seek him out. He might only be here for the opening feast.”

Maeglin sniffled and laid his head back on Mairon’s shoulder. “Maybe.” He took several deep breaths, trying and failing to slow them fully. “I think I saw Lord Rog with him.” He shifted, sitting up a little more, and rubbed his chest. “Do you have any water?”

“No. Do you want me to get you some?”

“It can wait. Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“I wish I were stronger like you. I wish I could face him again.”

Mairon wasn’t sure what to say to that. “He should never have made it difficult. You weren't responsible; you didn't want any of it, and he shouldn't have laid that on you.”

Maeglin laughed darkly. “Does it matter what I wanted? I still hurt everyone; whether or not I wanted it seems a trifle irrelevant when they all ended up just as dead.” The silence weighed heavily between them. Maeglin twisted a bunch of pine needles until they snapped. “There’s no point in trying, anyway. What good would it do? Do you really think it makes a difference what pretty words you or I come up with?”

Mairon thought of Celebrian's silver hair reflecting candlelight and her laughter echoing through Nienna's halls. He thought of Maglor's dreamy bliss as his fingers wandered over harpstrings, and of Celegorm's ready grin when he came to him with a wolf pup in his arms. “Not so much our words, perhaps. But I know I've done things that made people smile, and that matters more to me than I can say.”

“Hmmph.” Maeglin crossed his arms and stared up at the stars peeking through the tree branches. “It all feels like too much for me. And maybe you're right anyway. I don't know how you manage.” He sighed. Eärendil hung bright just above the horizon, and Maeglin’s eyes lingered upon the light. “I loved that kid, you know,” he murmured. “I wished so badly he was mine, but I loved him all the same. He was so much like her—golden and smiling and full of joy. He used to climb into my lap when she wasn’t looking and beg for stories. I’m glad he got to grow up.”

Mairon followed his gaze. He had very different memories of Eärendil—searing light cutting through the smoke and haze of battle, Ancalagon falling like doom from the sky, her body crushing mountains. Mairon had screamed himself hoarse and fled the battlefield to find his lord. That moment had sealed their loss, and he couldn’t help thinking that if he’d only realized it sooner, he wouldn’t have escaped alone. “It’s too much for me sometimes,” Mairon said softly. “I’m not as strong as you seem to think. I wasn’t going to come to this at all because I was too afraid I’d be surrounded by people who’d know me and demand their reckoning. I'm afraid of Gil-galad right now.”

Maeglin glanced at him intently. “You came anyway, just for me?”

Mairon shrugged and looked away. “If you don’t want to stay, I’ll take you home. It’s not a big deal.”

“It would be cruel of me, then, to stay for the whole thing purely out of spite.” His voice was warm and teasing despite the words, and when Mairon looked back, he had a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. “I guess it's gonna be a long week.” He tugged Mairon’s arm around his shoulders, and they rested a moment in Eärendil’s light. 

“We should go find our tents before Tyelpë comes looking for us,” said Mairon, and he pulled Maeglin to his feet.

*

It was afternoon, and Mairon’s senses were buzzing with all he’d tried to take in. The main exhibition hall was a series of vast tents hung below tall trees so that their trunks rose like columns and sunlight filtered down from overhead. Wonders of every description were packed within—gemstones that glittered with starlight, bells wrought of alloys calculated to ring just the right shades of melancholy or gladness, boughs of iron leaves that seemed to flutter in a nonexistent breeze. He didn’t try to fool himself into believing there was nothing he could learn; Ost-in-Edhil had broken him thoroughly of that notion. Celebrimbor kept stopping to chat with people he knew, but Maeglin took Mairon’s hand and dragged him along. 

“We should let him introduce us,” Mairon protested. “The whole point is to meet people and exchange knowledge.”

“We’ll do that. Later.” He still seemed unsatisfied when Celebrimbor caught up to them and insisted on taking a break, but when Mairon asked what he was looking for, he shook his head and didn’t answer.

Geleth beat them back to camp, but not by much. She looked overwhelmed and happy. Mairon was going to ask about her plans now that she’d gotten the lay of the land, but he saw Curufin striding across the field toward them. He groaned. Of all the people he’d hoped to avoid. 

“Tyelpë!” he called. “I heard I might find you here. Could I borrow you for a while? There’s some things I want your opinion on. I’ll get you dinner.” He nodded curtly at Mairon.

“Do you mind?” Celebrimbor turned to Mairon. “I didn’t intend to abandon you.”

“Go ahead,” Mairon answered. “We’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.” He stepped toward his father, but Curufin didn’t move. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

“Oh. Sorry. This is Geleth, one of our student smiths. Maeglin.” He gestured to each in turn. “My father, Curufin son of Fëanor.”

 _“The_ Maeglin?” Curufin scowled, peering at him closely. 

Maeglin tried to draw himself up more confidently but compromised it by shrinking toward Mairon at the same time. “The only one of my name I’m aware of.”

Curufin huffed. “I keep telling my idiot brother to bring you around and let you meet the rest of your family. I don’t know why he can’t get his act together.” Maeglin froze as he was pulled into a quick embrace and just as quickly released. Curufin rounded on Celebrimbor. “I thought better of you, son. It’s one thing to choose yourself to be around your to—” He bit his lip. “Your _friend.”_ The way he spat the word showed just how little he considered it merited. “But exposing someone like Maeglin to him is utterly—”

“Sir.” Maeglin spoke softly, but he raised his voice when Curufin didn’t stop. “Sir! You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m only here because of Mairon. It was my decision. He’s…serving as my bodyguard.”

“Is that so.” Curufin’s demeanor softened, as if he understood too well why Maeglin might require one. “Join us, won’t you? I assure you I can keep you safe as well as _he_ can.”

“I…” He looked back and forth between Mairon and Celebrimbor. They both gave him encouraging nods. “All right.”

Mairon watched them walk off together, Maeglin holding his head a little higher. “That just leaves us, then,” he said to Geleth. “Is there something you’d like to do, or should we wander our separate ways?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “When I finally get you all to myself? Did you know there’s a whole wing that’s nothing but automata? I have so many questions. Come on!”


End file.
